


Not Your Keeper

by mokuyoubi



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - Victorian, M/M, Minor Character Death, Pining
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-17
Updated: 2014-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-05 15:50:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 76,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/725052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mokuyoubi/pseuds/mokuyoubi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Spencer's parents have recently passed away, leaving him to care for his siblings and tend the family orchard. Brendon is the mysterious stranger who answers the ad for a farm hand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The setting of this is kind of all over the place. I've got a lot of somewhat conflicting detail about what year they're in. Some things suggest early 1890s, others suggest 1901. Obviously, since this is a fantasy, I'm just going to hand wave it.

_The Earth seems so cruel...to put up these obstacles so we may not traverse it. We are too small and it is far too large, when I should be able to step off a cliff, into another person's life._

Even during the winter months, when the snow in the valley was hip deep and the wind from the coast bitter, there were chores to be done. There was maple to be collected from the trees, animals to be cared for, repairs to be made, and food to be hunted. It was understood that no matter how unappealing these tasks, they must be completed, if the family wished to eat.

Spencer hated this time of year when the days were brief and dull, and the nights long and miserable. He rose before the sun, letting the children sleep as long as he could, and tended to the animals himself. As dawn rolled over the land, so rose the children and they began their daily chores. 

Jacqueline was ever so helpful, getting everyone dressed and fed, and running the house in their absence. In the evening she had warm water ready for baths and dinners made of their labours. And once the little ones had been tucked in for the evening, she kept Spencer company, when he was too listless to read.

Grandmother had passed away the previous winter, and now, nearly a year later, Mother and Father had followed. He was not an overly religious man, but Spencer had always thought their excesses wicked, and their deaths had proved him right. Still, father had squandered a great deal of the family's wealth in gambling and poor investments. Spencer hadn't known the extent until he'd suddenly become head of the family, and now he wished he hadn't been right.

Mother and Father had only been gone for two months, but the family was in a very precarious situation, now. Gabriel was away and Spencer was no hunter, and in the spring they would need more help for the orchard and vineyard, not to mention a handyman around the farm. They'd done without for the past four years, but with the loss of three additional helpers, they were hurting for it. 

Spencer didn't have the funds to hire helpers, and certainly not three. But if only they could get the help, they could turn a profit in the fall, and then there would be plenty of money to see them through the year.

When Spencer sighed heavily, his breath took form on the air before him. The land stretched bare for miles and miles, the dipping valleys and rolling hills a pristine, undisturbed white. The road to town was indistinguishable in the snow, and Spencer didn't want to go, but he had to. Jacqueline said Selena was going to need new clothing soon, and with Spencer's woeful hunting skills, they were running low on meat and other supplies.

"Can I go with you?" Aaron asked, eyes hopeful. He'd dressed himself, the buttons of his jacket uneven, his mittens on the wrong hands. His little cheeks were already pink, his nose running.

Jacqueline held him back with a hand over his chest, but Spencer could understand the desire to be free from this place, no matter how brief the reprieve. "Come along," He said, beckoning. 

"Spencer!" Jacqueline chastised, but released Aaron. He ran over to carriage and Spencer helped him up. Jacqueline followed more sedately, tucking blankets around the youngest child. "You behave yourself," She said sternly, tapping him on the nose. "Don't you give Spence any trouble."

"Yes, Momma," Aaron said, nodding and grinning. Spencer gave Jacqueline a sharp look, but her expression was a little lost and helpless. When their eyes met, he could tell she wasn't encouraging the form of address.

"Do be safe," Jacqueline said softly, stepping back and handing the reigns to Spencer. He nodded curtly, starting out.

It was still early, and they were travelling into the sunrise. Aaron was surprisingly subdued and silent, staring around himself as if in wonder. Spencer couldn't see why. There was nothing to be seen. The sun breaking over the mountains in the Northeast was blinding on the fresh snow. 

In fair weather, the trip to town could be made in twenty minutes, but conditions being what they were, the time was nearly doubled. Though the child was quiet, Spencer was secretly glad for the company. 

Morning was fully upon them when the arrived in town. The streets were bustling with activity. With the railroad, the town had prospered. Spencer tried not to be bitter about leaving New York, and selling the family business there, but was rarely successful…he would have been able to continue his studies, he would have had such opportunities at hand, he would have another intelligent soul with which to converse…

"Papa," Aaron said, tugging on Spencer's hand and jarring him from his thoughts, "can we get some sweets?"

"Aaron…" Spencer said softly, and felt very old. He knelt, looking his little brother in the eye. "We've discussed this. You call me Spencer. Spence, alright?" Aaron stared at him blankly, his eyes wide. "Spence," He said with a bit more force, taking Aaron by the shoulders.

"Yes," Aaron said at last. "Can we get some sweets?"

Spencer got to his feet, suppressing the urge to sigh, and held his hand out. "Yes, we can. But first there are some things I must do. Can you go play in the schoolyard?" Aaron nodded excitedly, and dashed off to join the other children.

The post office was extraordinarily busy. A train had just come in, and there was a flurry of activity as the mail was sorted for delivery. Spencer checked his box quickly, gathering the meagre parcels there, and stored them in his pocket for later. He already knew they would mostly be letters of consolation over his loss. Anything pertaining to business would hold til March.

Spencer's next stop was the newspaper. They printed weekly papers for Atwana as well as the nearby towns of Little Falls and Olmstead. Spencer felt the news they reported inconsequential at best, but he needed to post a help wanted ad, and this was his only venue open.

The request was simple and to the point. _Handyman needed for maintenance and care of vineyard and orchard. Skill as a hunter would be useful, but isn't necessary. Will provide room and board, compensation can be negotiated for pay at harvest. Please respond to box 85 at Atwana Post Office, or directly at the Smith Farms._ He didn't hope too much for an honest response. Asking for help without promise of payment… 

Aaron was eager to pick out sweets for himself and his sisters, while Spencer traded the syrup and the winter harvest of beets, carrots, cauliflower and peas for meat, material for clothing, a new book for himself, and a few other essentials. 

"Papa, can I get a toy, as well?" Aaron asked, tugging on his sleeve.

Spencer felt the store clerk’s eyes on him and was filled with embarrassment. "Aaron…" Sometimes he thought he might be creating an entire new language of sighs. "Yes, of course."

The clerk said nothing, but Spencer knew he and his family would be the topic of gossip at the tavern that evening. He couldn't say that he minded too much. He'd never felt any real attachment to these people here—so backward and uneducated and unrefined. Still, he depended on trade with them.

“Things awfully quiet out there?” The clerk asked, as he rang up the items.

“We’re fine,” Spencer answered, non-committal. He is very careful not to meet the man’s eyes. “Go wait by the carriage, Aaron,” He ordered, before the boy could say anything more.

“Heard you’re looking for an extra hand,” The clerk pursued. Spencer inclined his head. “I could post up a sign for you.”

“That’s very kind of you,” Spencer said. He wished they could just hurry things along. He hated the small talk of the people here. They said so much and it meant absolutely nothing.

“Suppose it would make things easier. Heard that redskin of yours up and took off on some fool…”

“I think I’ve got everything I need, thank you,” Spencer interrupted. He didn’t bother correcting the man’s assumptions about Gabriel’s heritage, just grabbed up the money being extended to him, and packages in hand, fled the store.

“Do we have to go back already?” Aaron asked, and the expression on his face almost made Spencer say no. But there was work to be done at home, and the others to think of.

“Maybe we can stay longer next time,” Spencer suggested, and tucked Aaron back in the carriage. The boy made a face, but when Spencer didn’t waver, Aaron didn’t argue.

By the time they arrived home, the farm was at the height of activity. Silvia had milked the cows and selected eggs, and Selena had prepared Spencer’s meagre kill from his last hunting trip. The rabbits and pheasant had hung for several days, and were ready to be skinned and drawn, seasoned and stored. 

Heather generally spent her days making candles and sewing with Jacqueline. But with the winter getting harder and meaner with each day, both women had begun assisting Spencer with the pruning of the trees. 

After unloading his purchases, he sent the younger children back to the house for their studies, relieving Jacqueline from her duties. He and Heather worked late into the afternoon on the pruning. It was mindless, tedious work, but needed to be done. They shaped the tree, keeping the branches high and the trunk low, for better growth and easier picking. Some of the scraps could be used for firewood, after being dried out. Which reminded Spencer of another chore he’d neglected…

Sunset saw the end of the workday, and Spencer stepped into the house and breathed a sigh of relief. The house was a thing of beauty, two stories, sturdy and large. There was a fireplace in the living room and the master bedroom, and a wood stove in the other bedrooms. 

Mother had insisted on an indoor toilet, as she’d had in the city, and one had been fixed, with a complexity of pipes. There was still an exterior house, but Spencer and the others preferred the indoors, as well. The kitchen was large warm and always smelled delicious. It was there that the elder girls worked all day, and their labours were always obvious.

Jacqueline had prepared some of the ham Spencer had purchased in town, with their own vegetables, and the family ate dinner together. After dinner, Aaron and Maria were put down for the evening, having already been bathed by Jacqueline. Then the girls would gather around the fire to sew, and Spencer would read to them from the book of their choosing. By nine, Silvia and Selena left to prepare themselves for bed. Some nights, Jacqueline and Spencer shared a drink, and by ten they’d seen themselves to bed.

It was nothing like life had been in New York. There he’d never risen before the sun, and he’d spent his days studying, his afternoons playing, his evenings listening to his grandfather’s stories, or visiting the opera, or staying up late by the fire with Ryan. He’d never wanted for companionship.

Spencer knew it did him no good to dwell on what used to be, but knowing he should stop and doing so were two entirely different creatures. When he lay down at night, huddled beneath cover after cover in the room that used to be his parents’, his mind was more active than any other time of the day. It whispered to him ‘what if, what if, what if.’

What if Grandfather hadn’t died? What if Father hadn’t fought with Grandfather? What if Crystal hadn’t died? What if Mother and Father hadn’t? What if he just left? He could just go. He could leave them here and go live his life…

It hurt his heart to think these things. He’d never know the evil thoughts of which he was capable until his parents had died. Now they crept up on him, whispering seductive and insidious things in his mind. 

Ryan had written to him again. He’d received the letter in the post. Ryan had started at University last month, and though he’d wanted to study literature, his father had insisted he go into medicine. Ryan had mentioned he had an empty room in his townhouse in Philadelphia, and he’d love to see his dear old Spence. The prospect was so tempting. Spencer was brilliantly, deeply jealous.

No matter how much Spencer longed for his own future and education, however, he loved his siblings far too much to abandon them. No matter how desperately he longed to leave this place behind, he could not. There was no one to support them now—his only existing relative, Mother’s sister, Aunt Marabella, had made quite clear that she had no interest in taking in any of her nieces or nephews. Spencer was all the children had, and they were all he had, too.

Sleep was always uneasy, dreams vague and unpleasant. He woke in predawn no longer tired, yet not refreshed. Sometimes he lay under the covers for long minutes, wondering when this pale shadow of existence had become his life and thought _has there ever been more of a waste of a human being?_

The last of the wine had been stored the week before, and the work in the vineyard was over until after Christmas, when they would begin pruning there, if weather permitted. Soon, there would be a lull in the activities of the farm, and none too soon. The holidays would last from November until the new year. 

Spencer had promised to take the children to town for the Christmas festival, and he’d even gone so far as to book a room at the hotel so they could stay overnight and see a show at the opera house. That meant that even in the down time, he and Jacqueline had to work so they could afford the outing.

“Did you see about help?” Jacqueline asked on Sunday. Though they didn’t worship, they did take the day off for play and relaxation. The younger children ventured out into the snow, and the older girls played with dolls and tea sets.

“I posted. I’ll go into town on Friday to see if there has been any response,” Spencer promised.

Jacqueline looked down at her sewing, a pensive expression on her face. Spencer could see so much of their mother in her—the dark sweep of hair, her fine brow and soft, round cheeks, her cupid’s bow mouth and her blue eyes. She was still growing into her features, but in a few years she would be stunning. Spencer hoped to see her into a good marriage.

“Don’t worry about it, please,” Spencer urged. “I do enough worrying for us both.”

Unexpectedly, Jacqueline smiled, then laughed. She set aside her sewing and stood, coming to him and putting her arms around his neck from behind. She placed a kiss to his cheek. “This isn’t the life you would have chosen for yourself, I know,” She said. “But you provide for us very well, Spence. Please don’t burden yourself with unnecessary worries. If help doesn’t come, then it doesn’t. We’ll survive.”

It was easy to be optimistic when the work load eased for the year, but the following day Maria came down with a fever, and by mid-week, it wasn’t getting any better. Spencer made his trip to town earlier than anticipated, and went alone. He hadn’t had time to form a response to Ryan, and besides, he didn’t know what he’d say. So he’d gathered his mail and made a visit to the doctor. He returned home with medicine for Maria and no response to his ad.

When the doctor visited the following Monday, Maria was doing much better, to Spencer’s immense relief. He feared sickness, and sometimes lived in dread of it. He’d seen what it could do, and how quickly it could destroy life, and had no desire to see any of his family succumb to it.

The daily chores soon were limited to the care of the cattle and hens and general maintenance of the farm. In his spare time, Spencer could be persuaded to play piano for the girls, or read to them, and occasionally he wrote his own music and stories.

In late November, the family went to town for the afternoon. Spencer and Jacqueline shopped for Christmas gifts for the children. Material for dresses for the girls, a new doll for Maria, a flute for Selena, a lovely hair comb and matching earrings for Heather, a new journal for Silvia, a top, yoyo and jumping rope for Aaron, and various sweets for them all. When Jacqueline left to gather the children, Spencer added to their purchases a shawl she’d been eyeing, and a broach to secure it.

As the days grew shorter, the home grew warmer and brighter. Spencer found himself more content than he had been in months. He delighted in teaching the children as much as he delighted in playing with them. Selena and Silvia were so eager to learn. When he thought of their potential, his heart felt tight in his chest and he vowed he would do whatever he could to see that they were not stuck here, as he was.

It was the second week of December, when Spencer no longer held out any hope that his request be answered, that a knock came at the door. Startled looks went all around, and Spencer went, holding his breath, though why he didn’t know until he opened the door and it wasn’t Gabriel.

The stranger immediately set off warning bells in Spencer’s mind. The man was dressed casually, his windswept hair covered in a much mended cap. His angular jaw and sharp cheek bones were covered in stubble, his hooded, brown eyes told nothing, and everything—that this man was not to be trusted. 

“May I help you?” Spencer asked coolly.

The man surveyed him up and down slowly. “Probably something I should talk about with the man of the house,” He answered in a faint accent, his tone deliberate and condescending.

“Yes,” Spencer agreed. “And how may I help you?”

That response gave the man a moment’s pause. “I need to speak with your pa.”

“Perhaps,” Spencer said evenly, “you should try the grave yard. I don’t know the likelihood of your success.”

Jacqueline came up behind him, laying a hand on his shoulder. The man looked between the two of them, clearly not having expected the answer he’d received. Jacqueline placed herself delicately between the two men. “Have you come to respond to our ad?” She inquired.

“We no longer need the assistance,” Spencer said brusquely. Jacqueline gave him a sharp look that told him now was no time for his snobbery.

“Please come in,” Jacqueline said. “The weather is hideous these days.” She stepped back, forcing Spencer back, too. The man hesitated. “Please,” She repeated. “We were just sitting down to supper.”

At last, the man stepped inside and Jacqueline closed the door. She helped the man out of his jacket and made introductions. “I’m Jacqueline Smith, and this is my older brother, Spencer.” She waited patiently and politely for the man’s response.

“Brendon,” He said, ducking his head. He didn’t offer a last name. Spencer’s mistrust of him grew.

“Well, Brendon,” Jacqueline said, taking in everything very well, “it is a pleasure to have you. Company is always welcome. Do come in and meet the rest of the family.” She waved him toward the kitchen, lingering by Spencer’s side. “We need the help,” She said softly, but firmly. “Please tell him the details of the position, and keep a civil tongue, won’t you?”

Pasting a smile on her face, Jacqueline followed Brendon down the hall. Spencer could hear her making introductions, heard the warm, boisterous replies of his siblings. He followed, vowing he would see Brendon out as soon as possible.

All throughout dinner, Jacqueline kept them away from the subject of work. Aaron and Maria were eager to tell Brendon stories and show off—they as well as the older girls seemed entirely taken with Brendon. Brendon didn’t look all that comfortable with their attention; he kept shifting in his seat and wore an uneasy smile on his lips.

“I haven’t seen you around town,” Spencer said deliberately. “What brings you to Atwana?” He pinned the man with a narrow, searching look. Brendon met the look with a steely gaze. He was a dangerous man, Spencer could tell, and the family should have nothing to do with him.

“Children, why don’t you go play,” Jacqueline suggested, and she did not seem pleased by Spencer. She pushed a reluctant Selena out of the room and shut the door. 

“Dinner was very good,” Brendon said.

Jacqueline beamed. “Thank you.” Spencer was amazed to see her blushing. What was it about this unkempt stranger that was attracting everyone to him? “I know it’s nothing grand, but it’s all we’ve got right now. But in the fall,” She continued on hastily, “in the fall, we’ll have a lot more.”

Brendon nodded, as if he wasn’t really listening to what she said. “Your pa and ma passed away recently?”

The flush went out of Jacqueline’s cheeks and she nodded, her eyes turning down at the corners as if she was going to cry. Spencer was amazed by this show of emotion. She was normally so strong—stronger than he was, anyway.

“Going on 3 months ago. They were robbed on the way home from town one evening. Sheriff said it looked like Father put up a fight and they were both shot. It’s been hard without them, but Spence’s been taking good care of us,” Jacqueline said, with a glowing smile at her brother.

Spencer knew that was his cue, and only his deep and abiding love for Jacqueline made him speak. “We are, of course, two workers short now,” He said, going to the chairs before the fireplace. He did not extend the invitation to Brendon. “You’ve come during a lull in the activity, but in January preparations will begin in the vineyard, and in early spring we’ll begin maintenance around the farm, clearing the grounds in the orchard and planting for our early summer harvest.”

“As I stated in the advertisement, right now we do not have the funds to pay you much. I could provide you with your own room and all meals, as well as use of our carriage and horses, and a small monthly allowance,” Spencer explained in as negative a tone of voice as possible. _Please let that dissuade him. Please let him turn it down._

Jacqueline gave Spencer a short, angry look, and turned to Brendon. “Of course, after the harvest, we’d be able to pay you. I know it isn’t much, but we can guarantee a quarter of our profit. Probably around seven hundred dollars.”

Brendon looked surprised by the amount; his eyes went wide for a moment. “That’s on the low end,” Jacqueline continued, a bit desperately. “With apple, wine and vegetable sales, all the goods the girls and I make, it could be even more. In fact, I have no doubt it will be.”

“Well…” Brendon’s entire demeanour changed, and suddenly he was grinning widely. It was amazing what a difference the expression made. He at once looked younger and more charming. Spencer could see now how his sisters had been taken. But it didn’t make him like the stranger any more.

“Oh, please say yes,” Jacqueline asked, clasping her hands to her breast.

“Yes,” Brendon told her.

“Perfect!” Jacqueline exclaimed. “It’s perfect. You’ll have time to settle in and become acquainted with the farm before beginning work. But where are your things?”

“I’ve left them at the inn. I should probably head back this evening,” Brendon began.

“Nonsense!” Jacqueline said. “It is far too late and dark. You’d freeze to death out there. No, you should stay here this evening. You might swim in Spence’s things but…Oh! Our father’s clothing should fit you very well.”

“Alright,” Brendon said amiably. 

“Terrific,” Jacqueline said. “Then it is settled, indeed. I’ll go prepare your room for you.”

There was a long silence in the space she left behind, Spencer staring at Brendon, and Brendon unwilling to meet his gaze. “Do you have any experience with this sort of thing?” Spencer asked curtly.

Brendon smiled again, just a little turn of his lips upward. “My family had a sheep farm back home,” He said.

The door to the kitchen burst in and Maria and Aaron came tumbling in. “Jacqueline said you’re staying on to help out,” Maria said excitedly, going to Brendon’s side.

“I suppose I will be,” Brendon agreed, nodding.

“Oh, good,” Maria said, “Brother isn’t very good at hunting. But I’ll bet you’re much better.”

Brendon chuckled a little, and Spencer felt the warm heat of embarrassment flushing his cheeks. “Excuse me,” He murmured, leaving the room quickly, bounding up the stairs. 

There were six bedrooms upstairs—Aaron had one to himself, and Spencer stayed alone in the master room. Jacqueline stayed in Grandmother’s old room, and Heather and Selena shared one room, and Silvia and Maria another. Spencer’s old rooms had been empty until now. He felt a bit awkward knowing it was about to be invaded by a complete stranger. He peeked a head in and saw Jacqueline putting down fresh linens and blankets, and warming the stove. When she saw him, she stopped.

“This is a good thing, Spence,” She told him. “He looks strong, and it is good of him, willing to work for so little a reward. And the children like him. And so do I.”

Spencer said nothing. He went into his own room, closing and locking the door, lighting his bedside lamp. Ryan had sent him a book. He said it had the entire English department atwitter at school. It was an Oscar Wilde, and Spencer had always enjoyed his poetry. He’d been looking forward to reading it since he’d picked it up.

He undressed, bathing in water warmed over the fireplace, and dressing in clean night shirt. It was one he’d got for Christmas last year—white flannel, floor length, with long, loose sleeves and a high, button neck. It was a touch of the New York luxury he so missed. He let down his hair, brushing out all the tangles until his hair was glossy and smooth, then slid between the sheets, settling down to read.

Bit by bit, the house quieted down. First the noise moved from the kitchen to the den, and then upstairs to individual rooms, and then died out altogether. Spencer could hear Jacqueline moving around in her room downstairs and slipped out of bed. 

The fire in the grate was still glowing warm, and Spencer drew a chair up to it, settling down to continue reading. He liked this time of evening best, when the wind howled outside, but he was safe and warm inside. He had himself a glass of wine and let the sound of the fire crackling and dying hypnotised him and he could imagine what it might be like to be living the life of one of the characters in the book.

“Oh, sorry. Didn’t know anyone was still awake!” Brendon said. Spencer started, sitting up straight and closing the book with a snap.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Brendon continued, so bold as to take the seat across from Spencer without invitation. “Not used to so fancy a bed.” Spencer said nothing. “What’re ya readin’?” He asked, tilting his head to try to decipher the name.

“Nothing that would interest you,” Spencer said curtly, holding the book protectively to his chest. His heart raced at the thought of Brendon reading it. He glanced sideways at the other man. 

Brendon looked ill-at-ease and was fidgeting in his seat, staring at the fire. Jacqueline had laid out one of Father’s fine night shirts and a robe, but the man was still dressed in his travelling clothes from earlier. “I could tell right from the go you don’t think too highly of me,” Brendon said at length. 

Spencer sniffed and looked away, letting his hair fall to shield his face. “I have no particular problem with you. If you can do the job, I am sure we will get along quite well.”

Brendon laughed a little. “You’re awfully young, aren’t you?” He asked. Spencer felt his hackles rising at once. He turned his head to pin Brendon with an angry glare, opening his mouth to argue. Brendon held up a hand. “I didn’t mean it in a bad way,” He said quickly, still grinning.

Spencer closed his mouth with a click and sat back in his seat, letting the wing of the chair shadow his features. “Then how did you mean it?” He didn’t know why, but for some reason he wanted Brendon to win him over as he’d won over the rest of the family.

"I just meant, all this responsibility you have," Brendon's tone of voice soothed Spencer and he relaxed his shoulders. "It must be difficult, caring for such a large family."

"We manage," Spencer said softly. He wasn't sure if Brendon was complimenting him, or suggesting he couldn't provide the appropriate care for his family, and was still on guard.

"I can see that. But I must admit I'm surprised by the luxury I see here," Brendon said, looking around the room. It was as richly appointed as their apartments in New York had been—colourful oriental rugs, black cherry furniture that had been the height of fashion five years ago, upholstered sofas and chairs in the finest fabrics, tapestries hung on the walls to keep out the cold.

"Mother decorated it," Spencer said, as if that explained it all to the stranger. Brendon stood up. He wasn’t very tall—shorter than Spencer by a good amount, but he seemed to take up so much space. Spencer shrank further into his seat, crossing his ankles and tucking his blanket more tightly around his lap.

"Is this her?" Brendon tapped the frame of one of the pictures on the mantel. 

"Yes," Spencer answered, though he thought it should seem obvious. The man was being pleasant though, and he could return the courtesy.

"She's very beautiful. Like your sisters," Brendon said. Brendon looked at him, his eyes shadowed in the low light of the room. Spencer felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny. “I’ll leave you to your book, then,” He said at length. Spencer nodded his accord and sighed in relief when Brendon had gone.

When he returned to his book, his fingers were shaking and he could no longer concentrate on the words. The wine made his limbs feel warm and heavy, and so he made his way to bed, very conscious of the man sleeping on the other side of the wall, and entirely unsure what to make of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Spencer woke late the next morning. Late for him was seven, when the sun was just breaking over the horizon. Jacqueline, Heather and Selena were already awake and had completed the morning chores, including his, and were finishing breakfast. 

Hot, sweet biscuits were steaming on the table, coffee on the stove was filling the room with its aroma, and Jacqueline was seeing to bacon and eggs. He’d heard them chattering in the hall, but when he stepped into the room, all conversation ceased. His sisters smiled at him as if they knew a secret he did not.

“Good morning,” Selena said, in almost a dreamy tone of voice, placing a kiss on his cheek. Spencer put a hand to the spot absently, regarding his sisters warily.

“You’re all very lively this morning,” he said slowly.

Heather grinned at Jacqueline and Selena in turn. “Well, it is Christmas soon, and soon we get to go to town for the festival.”

“Yes,” Spencer said dryly. “I can see now it is simply the holiday spirit.” He didn’t mind that the girls kept secrets from him. In fact, he preferred it that way. Brothers and sisters should only be so close, and given their current circumstances, sometimes they forgot that. Aaron’s address for Jacqueline and Spencer was only one example.

“Where is our new guest?” Spencer asked, still not thrilled with the arrangement.

Jacqueline didn’t look up from her task, but a queer smile pulled at her lips. “He’s already gone to town. He has a room at the inn. I told him we’d be coming at the end of the week, and he had some business to finish up…”

“Business?” Spencer asked.

“I didn’t ask. And you won’t either, because it isn’t any of our business, anyway,” Jacqueline said. She came over with her pan, dishing out a serving to him and to the girls. Spencer didn’t argue; Jacqueline’s tone told him not to and besides, he didn’t like to in front of the children.

There hadn’t been snow in a week, and the temperate weather had melted what had already fallen. Spencer took advantage of the weather to check his hunting traps in the woods. Jacqueline packed him lunch, presented him with his rifle, and he layered himself in clothing and ventured out. He liked the time on his own. 

The woods were so still and serene, he let the calm of them wash over him, and let his imagination run wild. A million thoughts a moment entered his head, and he certainly didn’t have the time to hold onto any, but it made him feel so _alive_. He returned home at dusk with a single squirrel and two rabbits, and had to admit that, if Brendon was a better shot than he, perhaps they did need his assistance. 

*

The time before the Christmas party was spent in decoration of the house. Spencer took the younger children out to select a Christmas tree while the older girls wove evergreen branches and holly. By mid-week, the entire home smelled of evergreen and spice, as Jacqueline baked pumpkin and apple pies for the season. Selena and Heather locked themselves in their room for long periods of time, working in secret on presents.

Everyone in the household worked together to create the decorations of the tree. Strips of tinfoil, saved throughout the year, were cut, twisted and glued together to make hanging ornaments. Peanut kisses, garlands of popcorn, raisins and nuts decorated the tree from top to bottom. Candied oranges hung in ribbon baskets from the branches. A glittered star topped the tree, and candles lit the edges.

The children stayed up late with sweets and hot cider, and Spencer played while Selena sang in her clear, high voice. The others would join in on carols and play games and talk about what the wished Santa would bring them. Spencer secretly longed for the days in New York, when carollers lined the streets, salesmen went door to door with wheelbarrows of holly, and bells rung in the streets. Still the country Christmas had its charm.

On Saturday, the entire family was up early. Spencer and Heather fed the animals while Jacqueline got Aaron and Maria ready. The girls were dressed in their finest attire— layers of bloomers and bustles, full skirts and fitted high neck bodices satins, velvets and silks, all in brilliant colours—burnished golden brown, forest green, sapphire blue. Jacqueline wore Mother's beaded shawl, shivering but beautiful. Spencer himself was attired for the evening, bringing out his grandfather's pocket watch and chain. 

By early afternoon they had bundled themselves into the carriage and made their way to town. This time of year, the storefront windows were lined with votives, the streetlamps lit early. Town hall was the site for the celebration and already preparations were underway for tomorrow evening's dinner. The children scattered to play, the girls went to the hotel to freshen up and socialise with others, and Spencer made his way to the nearest saloon.

The blast of warm air as he entered the saloon was welcome and the signs of Christmas were a great deal less obvious. The roar of conversation was deafening, but no real words were discernable from the din. An upbeat, bawdry tune was being played on the piano and several scantily clad women were dancing around the men at the nearby tables. 

Spencer went to the bar, ordering a scotch and water. He wasn’t a social drinker, and he wasn’t fond of the saloon atmosphere, but Jacqueline had been encouraging him to socialise more with the men in the town. She said it was a form of networking necessary to run a successful business, but Spencer wasn’t sure he was cut out for it. 

“Hey there,” one of the floosies drawled, insinuating herself against Spencer. The feathers of her shawl tickled his jaw as she wriggled by him to take a seat on the stool beside him. “Can’t have you drinkin’ alone. Particularly this time of year.”

Spencer took a long drink. He wasn’t good at conversation. The fact that he knew his current conversation was looking for a way into his bed and wallet didn’t make things any easier. “I’m alright,” he mumbled into his drink.

The woman smiled brightly, tilting her head to the side. Spencer could appreciate the fact that she was beautiful. She had blond curls down around her shoulders and dark eyes, round cheeks and a curvy figure. But Spencer didn’t have any interest in forging any relationships at the moment, even casual ones. Particularly casual ones. 

“I haven’t seen you around here before. Bet you’re Smith, though, huh? I’m Millie. You look a bit like your dad. He used to visit us all the time,” she said.

“Oh, I have no doubt,” Spencer said, doing an admirable job of keeping the bitterness out of his voice. This was the only venue in town for his father’s abominable gambling habit. He had to wonder how much money had been spent on Millie’s services, as well, and if his mother had ever known.

“It’s a real shame, ya know, ‘cause he was a great guy. Real generous.” Millie looked Spencer up and down, as if sizing him up next to his father’s memory. Spencer glanced around himself out of the corner of his eye, looking for escape. Millie moved closer, unaware that he was uncomfortable, or uncaring.

“I imagine my mother thought so, too,” Spencer said curtly.

“Mr. Smith!”

Spencer spun in his seat, surprised to see Brendon making his way across the bar, waving. He wasn’t dressed quite so messily as he had been before, but he still could use a bit of cleaning up. He was also weaving through the crowd as if drunk. Still, he was a welcome distraction from present company. 

“Excuse me,” Spencer said politely to Millie, leaving his drink and going to meet Brendon halfway. “Do you have a table?” He asked softly, feeling Millie watching them, her gaze calculating. 

Brendon nodded, the gesture somewhat exaggerated, and led them back to his table. “Didn’t think this would be your sort of place,” he slurred, jabbing Spencer in the chest. Spencer jerked away, rubbing the spot. “Not classy enough for ya.”

Spencer sniffed and looked away. “You gotta get all worked up over everything, don’tcha,” Brendon went on. “Didn’t mean it in a bad way. Just seems to me that you’re a little too good for this place.”

Inexplicably, Spencer felt his cheeks growing hot with a blush. He cleared his throat. “And what brings you here?”

“Just killing time. Miss Jacqueline told me you’d be coming to town for the party, and I remember you saying you wouldn’t need my help ‘til after Christmas, so I thought I’d stay out of the way,” Brendon explained, gesturing rather grandly as if relating an exciting story.

“Don’t you have anywhere to be for Christmas,” Spencer asked. He’d only meant it as a way to extend polite conversation, but as soon as the words slipped past his lips, they somehow felt to him to be invasive and inappropriate.

Brendon shrugged and looked away, taking a long drink of his beer. “Not really,” he said, and didn’t offer any further explanation. Spencer felt properly chastised for his thoughtlessness and didn’t press the issue.

“Are…ah…are you planning to attend the celebration?” Spencer asked, staring fixedly at the table top. He didn’t know why he felt so awkward around Brendon, but it was perplexing, to say the least.

“I don’t think I’d quite fit in there,” Brendon said, his tone full of self-deprecating humour.

“I know what you mean,” Spencer said, almost to himself.

“Oh?” Brendon asked, arching a brow. Something in the look was sharp—too sharp for Spencer’s comfort.

“Now that I am head of the house, Jacqueline thinks I need to…” Spencer trailed off, uncertain how to phrase it.

“You need to play a part,” Brendon finished. His voice was hard.

“I should go,” Spencer said, nodding, and pushing himself to his feet. “If you’d like a ride back to the orchard, we’ll be leaving tomorrow evening.”

“Thank you, I would appreciate it,” Brendon said graciously. “I had borrowed a ride, and I do admit I was uncertain how I was going to get back to the residence.”

“Are you staying next door at the inn?” Spencer asked.

Brendon shook his head, swallowing his drink quickly. “Staying at one of the rooms here,” he said, wiping his mouth. Spencer looked around himself in surprise. He knew the sort of activities that generally went on in the upstairs rooms of the saloon.

“Ah,” he said, wrinkling his nose in distaste. “Well, I’ll meet you at the salon tomorrow evening at nine.”

“Sounds good,” Brendon agreed, and looked amused at Spencer’s discomfort.

Spencer hurried away, taking care of his tab at the bar and glanced back at Brendon briefly. His table has already been descended upon by card players and two of the girls were fondling Brendon, one each on knees. Spencer shook his head at the behaviour, hurrying out of the bar. He did not know why his sister thought that was the sort of establishment he should frequent. He also wasn’t sure that he wanted a man of such obvious loose morals around his sisters.

“What are you frowning about?” Jacqueline asked, sliding her arm through Spencer’s the moment he entered the salon. 

Spencer made an effort to smooth out his brow. “Nothing,” he assured her. It wasn’t anything about which she needed to worry, anyway. He patted her hand and pressed a kiss to her cheek. 

The family had dinner together and continued on to the opera house for the evening’s entertainment. Only Spencer, Jacqueline and Heather had been to an opera before, but the others had heard plenty stories and were eager to see a show for themselves. The travelling show wasn’t the best performed Spencer had ever seen, but he was starved for culture and he drank in every moment.

Aaron had fallen asleep in his lap halfway through the show and Spencer wrapped him in his cloak and carried him back to the room, holding him close. His tiny body was warm and soft, and Spencer loved him so much, he wondered if it was so bad that Aaron call him father. The moment the thought passed through his head, he felt guilty. When Jacqueline laid her head on his shoulder as they walked together, he had to wonder if they were doing the right thing, or if their attachment to one another was becoming unhealthy.

It took a long time for Spencer to fall asleep that evening. The sounds in the street told him the cast party had carried out of the opera house, into the saloon, and now outdoors as well. He wondered if Brendon was enjoying the revelries, and was briefly jealous of the easy life Brendon lived, with no obligations, no one holding him back. Spencer’s problem was that he loved his chains too much.

During the afternoon the next day, the children were allowed to help decorate the tree in town square, and after a longwinded speech by the mayor, the tree and streets were lit as the sun began to set. 

Jacqueline had enjoyed the day, introducing Spencer around to many of the shop owners in town. Spencer wondered how she’d ever met them, but he smiled dutifully and held is tongue against the sarcastic, derisive things he wanted to say to them as they chattered their mindless small talk. Toward late afternoon, Jacqueline reminded him of his appointment with Brian Schechter

Mr. Schechter had been Father’s lawyer, and it was now his duty to see that Father’s will was followed, and his accounts settled. All the profits of the year had gone toward the debt Father had accrued in his life. It was only with Mr. Schechter’s help that the family had not lost the farm and been separated. He’d been working with Spencer, helping him manage the debt.

Spencer met with Mr. Schechter at his office while the children were readying themselves for the evening’s celebration. He liked the office. It reminded him of his grandfather’s study back home, with patterned wall paper, a plush loveseat, polished wooden floor and beautifully painted grandfather clock. Mr. Schechter always offered Spencer a cigar when he visited, and Spencer always declined.

“Please take a seat, young Smith,” Mr. Schechter said, shaking his match to put it out. The scent of his cigars, vanilla and tobacco, reminded Spencer of his grandfather as well. “Let’s not linger long on business. I know we have a celebration to attend. 

“Now, the profits from this year’s harvest were impressive and went a long way to clearing things up. We’ve still got the sum of twelve hundred dollars to a Messieurs McCorkle and Lane, and the three thousand owed to the bank on your land. I’ve spoken with Mister Rivers at the bank and he’s agreed that he will charge you twenty-seven percent interest on the loan until it can be paid,” Mister Schechter explained.

Spencer had never been a fan of mathematics, but it didn’t take any particular skill in the subject to know that the rate of interest wasn’t precisely in his favour. He felt a little stab of panic. His father’s debt was now his, and he feared he might never leave it behind and live his own life. And now Jacqueline had promised such a large sum to Brendon…

“Spencer,” Mr. Schechter called soothingly, and Spencer looked at him blankly. “I’ve talked with my friend on Wall Street, and happens to know a great deal about the purchasing trends of the American public right now, as well as the rate of inflation and other exciting factors which neither of us would understand. After a discussion with him, it has been projected that the profits of your orchard and vineyard this year should be upward of eight thousand dollars.”

“Eight--eight _thousand_ ,” Spencer asked, feeling his jaw drop.

Mr. Schechter smiled and nodded. “Now, after what you owe, and taking into consideration the expensive of living, you’ll still be left with a handsome sum of four thousand dollars.”

“And what of what I owe you?” Spencer pressed, still a bit shocked over the amount presented to him.

“We can worry about that once we’ve got everything straightened out for you,” Mr. Schechter said kindly, but his expression turned serious. “Now, Spencer, this is the most that your land can earn. It is up to you to see that its full potential is realised. Your mother and father saw the orchard as an entertainment, I think. You must view it as a livelihood. And one must take into account the chance of a tree disease, pests and other such natural disasters.” Mr. Schechter paused. “I think you can do it, though. You have my belief in you.”

“I appreciate it, sir,” Spencer said earnestly, offering his hand to be shaken.

Spencer left the office in with much greater spirits than he’d enjoyed in many months. The party was just beginning when he arrived. A feast had been laid out, and the growling of Spencer’s stomach surprised him, and reminded him he hadn’t eaten anything since a slice of buttered toast that morning. 

Before him now there was creamed corn, various forms of potato, fried winter vegetables, stuffing, candied yams, honeyed ham and seasoned goose. Warm cider and punch were for the children, while wine flowed freely among the adults. Dinner was followed by plum pudding, cranberry pies and apple pies and a Christmas cake. 

After everyone had finished dining, the tables were moved aside to make room for dancing. A live band played on stage and the children played Blind Man’s Bluff and various other games. Some adults had taken to playing cards. Spencer was so pleased with the news he’d received of his finances that he couldn’t keep the smile from his face. 

Jacqueline hadn’t seemed so relaxed and happy in ages. She danced with several men, her book full, and she was flushed and beautiful. Spencer noted that many men seemed to have more than a passing interest in his sister, and he only hoped that one might be worthy of her affection and her hand. He left that to her discretion at this point. He was not her father, and he would not tell her which marriage to chose.

Spencer himself was not much for dancing. He’d been taught a few dances in New York, but had never had a practical use for them outside of the education. Besides, he knew what the women around here saw when they were looking at him; the money his father had so casually tossed around. He would not make the same mistake his father had, marrying a woman with expensive tastes, and ruining himself trying to please her.

Instead of dancing, Spencer enjoyed himself by watching the festivities. He longed for a book in hand, but didn’t wish to appear antisocial. Several times he was approached for conversation, and the instigator left annoyed, but Spencer couldn’t say he cared. He let his gaze be drawn to the scene outside. 

It was starting to snow again, small flakes swirling in a bitter wind that couldn’t be heard over the music. Sometimes Spencer wished that he could be taken away on the wind like that, out of this life.

“It’s after nine,” Brendon said, sitting down heavily beside Spencer.

Spencer started, looking at Brendon wide-eyed. “I thought you said you weren’t coming this evening,” he murmured, confused by the other man’s presence.

Brendon smiled a little queerly. “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” He asked. “That snow must be quite fascinating.” Spencer blushed and frowned, looking away again. “Sorry,” Brendon said. “Look, it’s after nine, now. I thought you’d want to be heading out before it got too late.”

“Oh…Oh!” Spencer darted a glance to the clock across the hall. It was already a quarter past. He felt miserable at the thought of having left Brendon waiting in the saloon for so long. He had thought to himself how much better his behaviour was than Brendon’s, and now this. “Of course, yes. Let me just gather the children.”

“Take your time,” Brendon said, leaning back and smiling more broadly.

The ride home seemed to take forever. Wine had made Spencer’s limbs heavy and warm, and though Brendon had offered to take the lead, Spencer’s pride hadn’t allowed it. The children were bundled together in the back, leaving the two men together in the front. 

Brendon was as silent as Aaron had been on their trip weeks ago, but his presence was anything but comforting. Spencer was very aware of the warm thigh pressed close to his, the uneven, almost heavy breathing of the man beside him. He wondered how drunk Brendon was.

After tucking in the sleeping children, Spencer offered to assist Brendon in bringing in his things. But Brendon only had one suitcase and one over the shoulder bag, and was more than capable of carrying the things himself. He was defensive about it, unwilling to let Spencer touch either. Spencer didn’t know how any person could live on so little, but didn’t question it.

*

In spite of his reservations toward Brendon, Spencer found himself growing accustomed to the other man’s presence during the holiday season. Brendon helped the children hang last minute decorations, told them Christmas stories and was on his best behaviour, even around the girls. Brendon insisted on helping out with the morning chores, and with the additional help, chores were usually finished by mid-morning. With the extra time on his hands, Spencer took advantage of the opportunity to read more.

Throughout the years, Spencer had read hundreds of books, and he’d always made sure to purchase his favourites. It was a lot harder to get his hands on new books out here, though, and often had to order them, paying a great deal extra. Occasionally Ryan sent him new books, but most of the time he just read and re-read his old favourites. 

There were the classics—from Homer and to Milton and Dante. Even though Ryan had teased him for it, Spencer also liked Dickens’ works. He had books of poetry from Lord Tennyson, Lord Byron and Keats. Grandfather had made a gift of Shakespeare’s collected works—a huge, leather bound volume with gold trimmed pages. Though Spencer had read the stories dozens of times, they never grew old. 

Spencer was more than happy to hide away in his room, now that he was given the opportunity. The girls knew better than to bother him, and after making an attempt at conversation once or twice, Brendon had learned as well. 

Christmas approached quickly, and before anyone knew it, they were being awakened early in the morning by Maria and Aaron. Even Silvia, who liked to maintain that she was “all grown up now,” was bouncing with excitement, wringing the hem of her nightgown. Spencer dressed in a heavy robe before descending. He disliked being seen so naked by a stranger.

The evening before, Jacqueline had hung the stockings for everyone, including one for Brendon. Spencer had attempted to protest, but Jacqueline would have none of it. 

“You didn’t have to,” Brendon protested, when Jacqueline passed around the stockings.

“Of course not,” Jacqueline agreed. “But we wanted to.” The others nodded eagerly and Spencer did his best not to scowl.

Presents were passed around and the children delighted in what the received. Spencer was given handmade crafts by the younger children, a new winter coat by Jacqueline and a new Mark Twain novel by Heather, most improbably themed on time travel.

“I…ah,” Brendon said, rubbing his neck and blushing. “I gotcha all a little something, too.” He was wearing the scarf Jacqueline had made him, and had a pile of crafts similar to those given to Spencer in his lap.

Brendon reached into his bag and began passing around small packages—a toy pistol for Aaron, so he could practice hunting alongside Brendon; bright blue hair ribbons for Heather’s “lovely midnight curls, to bring out her eyes;” fudge for Selena that was “no where near as sweet as her smile”; a hand painted fan for Maria, a new sketchbook and pencils for Silvia, and a cookbook Jacqueline had mentioned wanting, though Brendon didn’t know how she could improve upon perfection. Spencer feared his eyes might roll out of his head. He refused to be upset that his siblings seemed to prefer Brendon’s gifts to his own.

“And for you,” Brendon said, handing a plain, brown paper wrapped parcel to Spencer. His eyes sparkled, and Spencer waited to hear what sickeningly sweet sentiment might accompany his gift, but Brendon said nothing, just waited. After a moment’s hesitation, Spencer snatched the gift from his hand.

“I didn’t get you anything,” Spencer said softly.

Brendon shrugged. “Well, don’t go thanking me yet,” he said, smiling a little. “You haven’t even seen what it is.”

Spencer felt a smile tugging at his lips, in spite of his reservations. He ripped apart the paper, revealing a book beneath. “I don’t know if you already have it—”

“I don’t,” Spencer assured him quickly, flipping the book open to scan the title page.

“Well, that’s good. The guy I bought it from said it was really famous, so I was taking a chance, but I flipped through it a little bit and it seemed interesting. Plus it made me think a little bit of you,” Brendon told him.

Though he hadn’t read _Far From the Maddening Crowd_ , Spencer had heard of it. Not enough to say what it was about, and now he was intrigued to why it would remind someone of him. He was also somewhat embarrassed by Brendon’s frank admission of thinking of him at all.

After Christmas breakfast, the children went outdoors to play and Jacqueline and Heather began to tend to dinner. Spencer really wanted to lock himself in his room, but he knew he should be accessible to the children on Christmas. Instead, he curled up on the sofa before the fire, opening his new books and trying to decide which to begin first.

“You always seem to be reading a book.” Brendon came in from the hall, dressed in heavy clothing, and sat down on the arm of the sofa to pull on his boots. Spencer tried not to cringe.

“Is there something wrong with that?” Spencer snapped, curling up more tightly. “It seems odd that you should make a gift of one if you disapprove of them.”

“I didn’t say that,” Brendon said, a helpless, confused looking smile on his lips. “I just think it’s a little strange, is all. I mean, you’re living on a farm. Lotsa farmers I know love being outdoors, in nature and all.”

“Well, I suppose I am simply unlike other farmers,” Spencer said primly. Brendon shrugged and finished tying his boot laces. “Are you going out?”

“Miss Jacqueline said that you’re running low on meat in the cellar. She mentioned having bird for New Year’s. I thought I might go see what I can do about that,” Brendon said. He stood and stomped his foot into the shoe. “Enjoy your book, Mr. Smith.” He nodded, pulled his cap down over his head, and left the room.

Spencer couldn’t tell whether he’d just been insulted or not, but felt wounded nonetheless. Perhaps he hadn’t been the best huntsman, but he’d made an effort. And he’d done far more than make an effort to provide and care for the family. He’d put all of himself into the task. Then in waltzes Brendon and wins everyone over in a couple days.

Scowling, Spencer sat aside his books and began to straightening up the living room. He could be just as useful as Brendon. He gathered up all the wrapping paper, the dishes left behind, the random articles of clothing and toys strewn around the room, putting everything in its rightful place. Then he retired to his room, taking his new gifts with him. He laid the Twain book on his night stand but shoved the one from Brendon on the shelf. It probably wasn’t that interesting, anyway.

Though he’d vowed to stay angry with the family for preferring Brendon’s company and gifts to his own, by late afternoon, Spencer had rejoined the family. Guessing games and board games were played around the kitchen table while the enticing smells of dinner rose up around them. 

Brendon returned at dusk and was invited to join them, but chose instead to clean up before dinner. By ten, the younger children were getting drowsy. Spencer took to the piano and they sang Spanish Christmas carols. 

Brendon joined them and Spencer relinquished his seat in surprise when Brendon offered to teach them a few of his own carols. He could play better than Spencer, and had a stronger, richer voice, singing jovially. Spencer was both jealous and pleased by this.

Dinner was served after midnight, and Jacqueline had outdone herself. There were caramelised pears and vegetables in Parmigiano, potato breaded cod fried in olives and red peppers and sprinkled in lemon zest, naked ravioli in butter sauce and lovely roasted truffles. 

“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Brendon said over the meal. “It’s delicious.”

“Mama missed Italy. She loved Italy,” Jacqueline said, with a dreamy smile on her face. “I’ve never been, but she made me love it, too. The food, the wine, the stories. I’d love to go some day. But this is one little way to bring Italy to the family.”

“I’m sure she would be proud,” Brendon said. He sounded earnest enough.

Jacqueline demurred and Spencer repressed the urge to snort. He didn’t particularly care if his parents approved of the way he and Jacqueline were raising the children. After all, his parents had hardly cared when they were alive.

Spencer looked at Brendon over the rim of his wine glass. “And what of your holiday tradition?”

Brendon only hesitated for a moment, but it was long enough that Spencer doubted the truth of what he was saying when he spoke. “Nothing grand like this. And before now I’ve never been a big fan of the holiday. But you all seem to know how to do it right,” he said, winking. The children giggled and Jacqueline blushed. Spencer scowled into his cup.

After the children retired for the evening, Jacqueline saw Spencer and Brendon into the living room, passing around brandy and father's cigars. Brendon took one and Spencer was very proud that he didn't flinch when the familiar, spicy scent took to the air.

"It's very curious," Brendon said, as the smoke curled upward. "This place is quite luxurious for the area, wouldn't you say? I've never seen farmers who lived like this."

Spencer immediately felt his defences rising, but Jacqueline spoke before he could snap. "We were not always in so desperate a place as we are now,” she said.

"We are not in a desperate place now,” Spencer said. He rose to lean against the mantle. The fire warmed his legs and the alcohol warmed his chest, making him feel heavy and ill-at-ease. This wasn't the sort of thing which should be discussed at all, least of all with strangers.

Jacqueline ignored him. "Mother came from a wealthy family. She always appreciated fine things. Father loved Mother dearly. He always gave her whatever she wanted. You should have seen our home in New York.”

"You're from New York, then?" Brendon asked.

"Oh yes," Jacqueline exclaimed. "We had a lovely home in Manhattan, downtown. There was a chandelier when you first came in, and the wallpaper was made of silk, and the carpets were so soft you could sleep on them," Jacqueline gushed.

"It sounds lovely," Brendon assured her, but Spencer got the impression that he didn't really believe what he said.

"Well, yes." Jacqueline calmed herself, smoothing her skirt. "But that is in the past, and I'm quite happy with what we have now,” she said sedately, with a smile at her brother. 

Spencer could only muster a small, strained smile in return. He didn’t want to be a part of this conversation any longer. "I'm going to bed,” he said. Jacqueline gave him a questioning look, and he pressed a kiss to her raised cheek. He nodded to Brendon, barely glancing in his direction, and hurried upstairs.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The holidays come to the Smith household

The morning after Christmas, the family went sledding to the pond, where they spent the afternoon skating on the ice. Spencer wasn't particularly good at it, and his skates didn't like to stay in place, but he enjoyed the activity none-the-less. He supposed it might have something to do with the way Brendon spent more time on his bottom than on his feet. The children kept teasing him for it, and when he wasn't being praised endlessly, Spencer found Brendon a great deal more likeable. 

Before they left, as the others were heading back to shore, and paying no attention, Brendon glided smoothly out in the centre. Gaining speed, he leapt in the air, spinning twice before landing gracefully in a crouch.

“Where’d you learn that, then?” Spencer asked, as they were walking home, fallen behind the rest of the group.

Brendon looked at him sharply, perhaps surprised. “Oh. There’s not much to do back home in the winter. I hate being cooped up inside so long.”

“I thought you said your family had a sheep farm,” Spencer said. Granted he didn’t know a lot about farming animals, but if trees were a year round endeavour, surely living creatures took even more work.

Brendon nodded. “There were sheep, yes. Did you know, sheep sort of just look after themselves. You’ve got the dogs to keep out the foxes, and in the spring you’ve got to tend to the lambs, but even when it snows, they don’t need much work.”

Spencer wasn’t so sure it was as easy as all that, but he let it go. “Why were you pretending you couldn’t skate out there, then?

“We were just playing, Mister Smith,” Brendon said. Before Spencer could say anything else, Brendon put on a little more speed, catching up to Jacqueline and Heather. Spencer watched the way Jacqueline linked an arm through Brendon’s and immediately included him in their conversation. It all made him uneasy.

*

After the brief reprieve, though, it was back to work until the next holiday. Now that Brendon was helping, chopping wood was done in half the time. He was impressively strong, but Spencer would be damned if he let the other man show him up at this. He knew he would be sore in the morning, but he didn't particularly care.

Brendon liked to make small talk while he worked. He'd started out by asking Spencer questions, but when he was ignored or greeted with one word answers, he'd given up. Instead, he spent the morning relating interesting facts and little stories, none of which told Spencer a single thing about who Brendon was, or from where he came.

After lunch, the work was done for the day. The children took up their studies and Spencer took Brendon on a tour of the farm. The orchard occupied most of their 160 acres of land, spreading off to the west. Spencer led him down the closest rows, explaining to him how things would work. 

"After the snow has gone we need to clear out any debris from the ground, and once spring comes, we have to help pollinate the trees. That takes the most time, really, and can get somewhat tedious. It takes a delicate hand and a lot of patience. Of course there will be other tasks to keep you occupied,” Spencer said.

Brendon gave him a wry smile and at once Spencer felt a little guilty for being rude. He hurried on, gesturing around himself. "We'll need to set pest traps, and check them every evening, and we must carefully monitor the health of our trees."

Spencer led them out of the orchard toward the vineyard. "The trees around the perimeter are most vulnerable to woodland creatures, and we must maintain the integrity of the fence.”

"You don't talk like a farmer," Brendon said. He was looking at Spencer rather than the trees.

"Why must a farmer sound a particular way?" Spencer asked a bit chillily.

Brendon shrugged. "It's just…you don't seem to like farming, you read all the time, and you sound pretty smart. I don't know why you're doing this instead of something else."

"What else?" Spencer asked. He ignored the familiar sensation of helpless desire curling up inside him. "What else can I do, tell me. I have a family for whom I must care."

"Well…"

"Yes, as I thought,” Spencer said, his tone sharp.

Brendon muttered something under his breath, and Spencer told himself he didn't care. He hurried along. "This is where we garden our summer vegetables, and on the other side, the winter vegetables. Selena tends to the garden mostly on her own, so you needn't bother with it unless she asks."

They made their way into the edges of the vineyard. He couldn't say why, but Spencer had always found the vineyard at wintertime, before being trimmed, a beautiful site. The vines were twisted and nearly black, and against the snow they made a striking vision. It was a little lonely and a little sad, and Spencer could understand that.

"Next week we'll begin trimming the vines,” Spencer said. He'd always hated cutting up the trees and vines. It seemed wrong and unnatural and unfair. He hurried on past the vineyard.

"In late February the maples will probably be ready to be tapped. The younger children can do the collection, but you and I will have to do the tapping. Of course, if you are unfamiliar with any of this, I can help you. None of it is very difficult to learn." 

Brendon nodded, looking at the forest in front of them. "Sounds good. Been a long while since I've had some good, hard labour."

"Oh?" Spencer asked. "Then what have you been doing?" He looked over at Brendon appraisingly. He was expecting more of the man's evasiveness, but Brendon sighed heavily and sat down on one of the tree stumps.

"I move around a lot," Brendon said. "I don't like to stay in one place too long. I get a job, I do that job ‘til it's over, and then I move on."

It wasn't exactly the answer to the question Spencer had asked, but it was a start. "And where were you before here?" He asked. He wasn't very good at making conversation, but he found that he wanted to know more. It was natural, he supposed, given the man was living in his home.

"Around," Brendon said. "I spent some time in Seattle , and before that I was in Nevada and Dallas, for a while. Worked a little bit on a fishing boat for a bit, hung around some casinos, bartended."

"Don't you have any aspiration in life?" Spencer burst out in disbelief. "You're what, twenty-one?"

"About that," Brendon said. "But that's hardly an old man,” he added, grinning. "Haven't found what I wanna do yet. Just trying things out, seeing what works for me. Better than making a decision now and regretting it years later." 

Spencer couldn't fault him, when Brendon put it like that. He knew very intimately about being trapped in a life he didn't want.

"What are you boys doing sitting in the cold?" Jacqueline called, sticking her head out the window. "Come on in here, I'll warm up some soup for you!"

"You're going to spoil me," Brendon called back, and at once, Spencer felt any easiness between them evaporate. He got up, losing the struggle to keep the scowl from his face.

They went into the house together but rather than joining the others in the kitchen, Spencer tossed his coat into the closet, kicked off his boots, and stormed upstairs. He heard the surprised murmurs downstairs but chose to ignore them.

The brass tub had been dragged out from under his bed and filled with hot water. It was still steaming, and he undressed quickly, tossing aside his clothing and clambering into the tub. The homemade soap smelled like his mother's favourite perfume and the fumes dispersed in the air on the steam. He cleaned quickly, and then soaked for a long while, letting his hair dry by the fire as he read.

As the water grew cool, a knock sounded on the door. Spencer started, nearly dropping his book in the water. "Y…yes?" he called out.

"Been sent to tell ya dinner's ready," Brendon said.

Inexplicably, Spencer's heart rate picked up, and he felt extremely naked. He tossed his book aside, scrambling to his feet and wrapping quickly in a towel. The water sloshed around wildly, threatening to spill over.

"You alright in there?" Brendon asked. The door knob moved just a little.

"I'm fine!" Spencer cried. He stupidly threw out a hand in protest. "I'm fine. Don't come in, I'll be right down. Don't come in." 

Brendon didn't say anything and Spencer stood by the fire, clinging tightly to his towel, waiting. Then Brendon's footsteps retreated down the hall and down the stairs.

Spencer let out a sigh of relief, loosing his hold on the towel. He dried off thoroughly, aware of his heart slowly returning to normal. He dressed again, combed out his hair and pulled it back, and went to join the family for dinner. 

Brendon was seated at the opposite end of the table from Spencer, but Spencer couldn't meet his gaze. For whatever reason, the mere thought of Brendon standing outside his door while he was bathing made Spencer blush bright red.

* 

New Year's Eve came more quickly than Spencer would have liked. Another year was coming to an end. Another year lost and never to be regained. Another year in which Spencer had achieved nothing of any value. If he thought too long about it, he slipped into depression.

Luckily, the family was happy to distract him. Brendon had told the girls of some odd custom in the United Kingdom, where dropping an egg white in a glass of water would spell out the first letter of the name of the man they would marry. 

Maria, Selena and Silvia took it to heart and spent a while trying to decipher letters in the gooey mess. Spencer was amused to see Heather and Jacqueline trying it when they thought no one was looking, giggling together over the results. " _Mine_ was a letter 'B,'" Selena told Spencer matter-of-factly, but he wasn't sure what she was attempting to tell him.

Jacqueline broke out the wine by mid-afternoon, and by dinner time. Brendon was no doubt feeling the effect, grin wide, slow, and easy. He kept singing bits and pieces of Celtic songs in that lovely voice of his, and Spencer presumed figured he too was feeling the effects of the wine, too, when rather than being annoyed, he felt only warm and fuzzy.

Dinner was a pheasant Brendon had brought home, lentils, potato cakes, spiced apples and seasoned rolls. Heather had made sangria the week before, and two more bottles of wine, one white and one red, were emptied during the meal. Spencer knew it was the fault of the wine, but he was becoming more charismatic and outgoing as the night wore on, joining into the conversations.

As midnight drew near, the family moved outside. Spencer lit a bonfire in the front yard and the children all drew near. "This how you do this every year?" Brendon asked. His voice was near Spencer's ear, everyone pressed close together.

Spencer shivered and turned to Brendon, smiling. "We haven't even gotten to the best part, yet."

"No?" Brendon asked, sharing his smile.

Spencer leaned further into him. "No," he said firmly and shook his head. "Tradition must be followed." 

"Indeed," Brendon agreed. "It is an important thing." 

"How do you celebrate New Year's?" Spencer asked. 

"Well, in Ireland, we light fires inside. Safer you know. To drive away the evil spirits. Fairies are abroad you know," he said. There was a playful, teasing lilt to his voice. His eyes were bright and dark by turns, as the fire flickered.

"Fairies?" echoed Silvia. 

"Aye, but these aren't the sorta fairies you're thinking,'" Brendon told them. He leaned over the fire and fhe flames cast up dark shadows, making his features sharp and sinister. "These are evil fairies. They snatch up babies, and steal food and money, they bring disease to the livestock and whenever they stop at a house, someone there drops dead." The girls gasped and clung to each other, and Spencer felt himself grinning indulgently. 

"My father's mother would take a loaf of bread and run all around the outside of the house, hitting the windows. She said it drove away the evil spirits and brought good fortune," Brendon said.

"We should do it right away," Aaron said sleepily. "Can we, Momma?" He looked up at Jacqueline, head in her lap.

"Go on, then," she said, patting his bottom. He, Maria and Silvia rushed into the house and returned with various pieces of bread for everyone. Jacqueline rushed off with the children and though she said it was silly, Selena joined them. Brendon offered his hands to Heather, who after a moment's hesitation took them and allowed herself to be dragged off as well.

"Coming?" Brendon asked over his shoulder to Spencer. 

"I'll watch,” Spencer said. He leaned back on his hands, sleepily amused, as his family ran around the exterior of the house, shrieking and laughing. Eventually the idea of hitting the widows was abandoned or the task was completed, because then the bread was being eaten, then thrown, and when the bread was gone, the children turned to snowballs instead.

They returned red-cheeked and breathless, and wineglasses were refilled. Spencer even joined in when the older children and Jacqueline began to sing. Brendon began dancing Heather in dizzying circles. After watching for a moment, Spencer grabbed Jacqueline around the waist and joined in. The younger children moved around them, dancing wildly around the flames.

Near midnight, Spencer went to the cellar and returned with a bucket and several pieces of linen. He passed the linen around and Brendon arched a brow. "This is the best part,” Spencer said. He scooped the packed snow off the top and unwrapped the cloth inside.

The grapes were wrinkled with age. One vine was always left, picked just before the first frost and stored for this very occasion. Spencer counted out twelve grapes for each person present and they held them, waiting silently. Spencer took out his pocket watch and sat it open on his knee, watching the time.

"What are we doing?" Brendon asked out of the side of his mouth. He was staring at his grapes in consternation, like he expected them to perform some trick. 

Spencer had the irrational and inexplicable thought that Brendon was extremely adorable with that expression on his face. He blamed it on the wine. "For each time the clock chimes, you put a grape in your mouth. You're supposed to finish them before the end of the day."

"Doesn't sound possible," Brendon said.

"That doesn't mean it can't be fun to try,” Spencer said. He pressed his shoulder into Brendon's. “Here, be quiet.” He put a finger to his lips and making a shushing noise. They all strained to hear, and after a few moments, the grandfather clock in the entrance hall began its song.

“Wait,” Spencer whispered, as Brendon lifted his first grape. “Wait for the chimes.” As soon as he said it, the tolling of the hours began. 

Quickly, Spencer began dropping grape after grape into his mouth, chewing quickly between each chime of the bell until the reached his last and silence filled the air. His mouth was still full to bursting, a bit of juice running down his chin. He spared a glance to the children, who were laughing and spraying bits of grape all over one another, and then he glanced to Brendon. The other man was staring at him oddly.

“What?” Spencer asked around his mouthful. He giggled a little and swallowed. “What?” he persisted.

Brendon shook his head, looking dazed, and mumbled something around the grapes. Then he shook his head more firmly and swallowed. “Nothing,” he said, but his voice sounded strained.

“Here.” Spencer offered Brendon a glass of white wine to wash down the rest of the grapes. “Better?”

“Yes,” Brendon said breathlessly, after gulping down the entire glass. “You seem in better spirits today than usual.”

Spencer wrapped his arms around his knees and leaned back. He was freezing all along his back, and burning along the front. “Perhaps it is just the idea of renewal, of a fresh start. It has been a difficult year, but I can vow to make the new one better.” He blamed his candour on the alcohol.

Jacqueline tumbled down beside Brendon with a breathless giggle. “Have you enjoyed our New Year’s celebration?” she asked of Brendon. Her hair had fallen down over the course of the evening and her cheeks were bright pink with the cold. Spencer wondered if Brendon was attracted to her. Suddenly, he didn’t feel so festive.

Brendon gave her one of his wide grins. “So far so good,” he said. 

“Well, we still need our first-footer,” Heather said. “Spencer or father used to do it, but since you’re new, you should do it.”

“Yes,” Selena said earnestly. “Be our first-footer.”

“It doesn’t seem right, coming in and taking Mister Smith’s role from him,” Brendon said. 

“The first-footer should be handsome, and have dark hair,” Spencer said. “You fit the description.”

Brendon arched a brow. He had such an expressive face, Spencer was fascinated by it. “I suppose I don’t have a choice, then,” Brendon said. He got to his feet and the others followed along behind him to the door.

Spencer watched them go, chest feeling light for the first time in months. They had help around the farm, everyone was in good health, he would soon pay off his father’s debt, and Mr. Schechter said it would be a profitable year…perhaps Brendon _could_ bring luck to the home.

*

“…So I said to those boys, I said _if you’re gonna talk about your plans out in the open, you might not wanna do it sitting at a table right next to the sheriff’s deputy._ ”

“Oh, you’re kidding!” Silvia said, cheeks flushed from all the laughter.

Brendon gave her a conspiratorial grin. “You should have seen ‘em. The just froze, looked like they were having some sort of fit—bright red, eyes bulging—and looked over their shoulders and sure enough, there’s Deputy Willis, watching ‘em and he doesn’t look too amused.”

The children burst into giggles and Spencer shook his head in amusement. “So did they get hanged?” Maria asked. Spencer thought she sounded a bit too interested, and wondered where such a young thing got these ideas.

“Well, now, don’t be so hasty,” Brendon warned, shaking a finger. “They didn’t actually do anything wrong. I think they were just talking big. Willis locked ‘em up for a couple days and sent ‘em packing. I think they learned their lesson.” 

“You’ve led such an exciting life,” Silvia sighed wistfully. “Don’t know why you’d come _here_.”

“Well,” Brendon said, ruffling her hair, “I like this place awfully well.” He washed down his lunch with a long drink of coffee and stood, taking his coat from the back of the chair. Spencer watched him lazily, his chin in his hand. “You coming?” Brendon asked.

“Oh, yes.” Spencer snapped out of his daze. He stood so quickly he almost tipped over his chair, and grabbed his own coat from the counter. They hurried outdoors, and the warmth of lunch stayed with Spencer, even in the biting cold outside.

They’d begun trimming in the vineyard in the first week of January. The vineyard was nowhere near as extensive as the orchard, but pruning still took time. After the first day, Brendon knew precisely what he was doing. He was a quick learner, and Spencer appreciated that, as well as his company. 

Though he was used to the time alone allowing him to think, Brendon had an endless number of entertaining stories to tell. Spencer was noticing a trend, though, that the stories never dealt directly with Brendon himself, and never made any illusion to family or friends in Brendon's life. It was an intriguing mystery, and Spencer was determined to figure it out.

"You read your book yet?" Brendon asked, as they began working. 

Spencer shrugged, feeling a little foolish when thinking about his response. He hadn't read the book yet. He'd begun, but only got past the first chapter. It was that he really enjoyed the writing, and wanted to savour it. 

"It's alright," Brendon said. "I can understand if it isn't your thing. I'm really picky about what I read, too." He sounded sincere, but there was something about how quickly he spoke that reminded Spencer of himself, when he was bracing himself for disappointment.

"No,” Spencer said. "I didn't mean…I do appreciate it." He didn't understand why it was so difficult to talk to others, sometimes. People who weren’t Ryan, anyway. It always happened when he really _wanted_ to communicate something that he was unable to. He paused, throwing an awkward smile over his shoulder. "Really, I do. I just…"

"It's alright," Brendon persisted.

"I want to save it,” Spencer finally managed.

A slow smile spread over Brendon's features, his eyes lighting up. Spencer didn't know he smiled with his whole face like that, but it was a transformation for which he liked to be responsible. "Well, if it's any good, you'll have to let me know."

"If you're wanting for something to read, I have some things that might interest you,” Spencer said. "I didn't take you as the sort to read."

"I imagine there are a great many things about me that you wouldn't guess just from looking," Brendon said. Spencer got the impression he was being teased. "Ice skating’s only good for a very small window of time, you know. I had to find other ways to occupy myself, and we had a lot of books. Got awfully tired of it for a while, but when I went to university, I got back into it."

Spencer paused in the middle of pruning, his jaw dropping in shock. "You—you went to university?" he asked. His fingers felt loose and numb.

Brendon laughed a little. "It wasn't really what I wanted, at the time. I didn't stick around long. But I had a dorm mate loved reading, and he introduced me to some interesting bits of literature. I imagine it's the sorta stuff you like—don't look so shocked, now,” he kidded, when he saw Spencer's expression.

"Well, but I thought…" Spencer trailed off before he stated what he'd thought. That Brendon was an uneducated, poor, unsophisticated brute. He was going to have to admit, at least to himself, that he'd been quite wrong.

"I know what you thought," Brendon said. "S'alright."

It really wasn’t, particularly when it made Brendon’s face go dark and closed like that, but Spencer wasn’t going to press it. "Where, ah…where did you go to university?" Spencer asked.

"City University, in New York. It was a bit of a fight with my father, but I wasn't particularly keen on going anyway," Brendon said. "You weren't all wrong about me. I wouldn't classify myself as an academic."

"What was it like?" Spencer asked. He couldn’t help but feel wistful.

Brendon went back to work and Spencer followed him, catching up on the pruning, going quickly. "It was nice getting away from my father. Nice having a bit of freedom. The other boys felt the same way. We got ourselves into a lot of trouble." He laughed a little. "You know what it's like," he finished.

No, he didn't. That was part of his problem. He remained very quiet. "Well, you went to school in New York, didn't ya?" Brendon prodded.

"Yes,” Spencer said. It wasn't really the same thing.

"Didn't you ever get into trouble with the boys?" Brendon asked, grinning.

At first, Spencer was going to deny it, but then a memory flashed through his mind, when Pete had thought it would be a good idea to put tacks on Professor Webb's seat, or when Michael and Jonathan thought it would be fun to glue together Mary-Louise's pigtails, or the time… "Yes,” he admitted at length, sharing Brendon's grin.

The rest of the afternoon was spent discussing their boyhood transgressions, laughing and teasing. Before Spencer knew it, the sun was starting to dip beneath the horizon. They'd gotten further than he had anticipated, which was a relief. Brendon helped him carry the branches back to the house. Some could be used for kindling, but some would be used for grafting. Spencer enjoyed experimenting with the grafting, and was looking forward to it.

January flew past in a blur. The work in the vineyard was finished ahead of time, and Spencer had spent a great deal of time in the cellar, working long hours to make sure the grafting would be ready in time for spring. The family was eating better than ever, thanks to Brendon's hunting skills, and indeed the family was simply happier in general. 

Brendon was brighter, more energetic than anyone in the family, and his attitude was infectious. He played with the younger children, told stories to Silvia, helped Jacqueline and Heather with their household chores when he was finished with his own, and somehow managed to engage Spencer in pleasant conversation. It was something the family had been missing since moving to Washington.

Evenings were spent reading by the fire with hot chocolate or brandy, or sometimes playing games. Spencer had always loved playing chess, but Jacqueline and Heather didn't have the interest, Silvia didn't have the patience, Selena couldn't be pulled away from her own pursuits and the other children didn't pose much of a challenge. Brendon, however, played a mean game of chess. Plenty of times the two of them could while away an entire evening on a single game, and in then end have no winner.

Eventually, Spencer opened the book that Brendon had given him for Christmas. Almost at once, he saw what Brendon had meant when he said it had made him think of Spencer. The story took place in a small, backward town. The tediousness of the story reminded him of his own life here in Washington. He stuck the book through to the end, though he didn't particularly care for the plight of the 'heroine.' He enjoyed the writing style, though, and thought perhaps something of the same author that didn't focus so largely on romance might be more his style.

With February came Valentine's Day. The girls began getting all giggly and secretive. With the more temperate weather, Silvia, Selena, Maria and Aaron had begun attending school with the other children again, and apparently there were plenty of cute boys at the school over which the girls liked to pine.

On February 14th there was to be a ball in town hall. Spencer had no particular desire to attend, and had told the girls they could go on their own, but Brendon didn't seem to want to leave that be.

"You can't let me go by myself," he protested, for what seemed like the millionth time in the two days since the news had been announced.

"Why not?" Spencer asked, a smile tugging at his lips as he teased Brendon. "You're a grown man. You don't need anyone holding your hand."

Brendon's eyes narrowed a bit dangerously. "You know damn well that that's the problem," he accused. "They'll be all over me."

"And tell me,” Spencer drawled, "what is wrong with my sisters that you would not want their attention."

Brendon changed his tactic immediately. "Isn't there some fine young lady in town that has caught _your_ interest? Wouldn't you like to see her, maybe dance with her?" Spencer arched an amused, dubious brow. Brendon sighed in defeat. "Is there nothing I can do to convince you to accompany me?"

At once Spencer's mind produced a flurry of suggestions, most of them ridiculous and meant to cause Brendon embarrassment or annoyance, but a few surprised even Spencer. He shook his head quickly. "Sorry, no," he said softly, hiding his burning face behind his book.

In the end, Brendon had to suffer on his own, though Spencer had given the younger girls a stern talking to about misplaced affections. He wasn't very sure they'd understood what he was saying, nor why he was saying it, but it didn't make him feel quite so guilty about sending Brendon off on his own. His own evening was spent soaking in a steaming bath, reading a book of poetry  
.  
Around midnight he heard the return of his family up the lane, and then their footsteps and voices downstairs. Heeled feet dashed up the stairs and a knock sounded on his door. "Come in," he called.

Jacqueline came in, bringing a rush of cold air with her. Her pink dress was off her shoulders and her thin shawl didn't seem to have done its job properly, because her skin was pink and blue. But she was grinning effusively, practically radiating happiness. "I guess you had a good time,” Spencer said drolly.

"Oh, you should have come,” she said, sitting on the edge of the bed. She had clasped to her chest a stack of mail, and she laid it down by Spencer before standing again, seemingly incapable of staying still. 

"Brendon is a fabulous dancer. He wouldn't stay long, though. Selena kept making eyes at him. I think he escaped to Ambrose's saloon." She grinned, and Spencer could imagine the desperate look on Brendon's face at Selena's advances.

"But Spence, there's a new doctor in town, James Glasius. He's just finished at Harvard University, and he was offered a job in Boston, but he came here because he wants to help people where medical assistance isn't so ready." Jacqueline spoke in a soft murmur, a dreamy, far-off look on her face. Spencer had to be happy for her.

"Sounds like a true humanitarian,” Spencer said indulgently.

"He brought his mother and sister with him. His father passed away, and he's taking care of them now. Oh, his sister is Silvia's age and the two of them just get on splendidly. And his mother, oh, she's so wonderful to speak with. We talked all about our situation and she had so many suggestions on how to carry on. And James said he'd be ever so pleased to visit the orchard when it is blossoming, and how he'd always wanted to help with a harvest."

"Hmm…sounds wonderful,” Spencer said. He snatched up the mail and began flipping through it. There was a letter from Ryan affixed to a package, a letter from Mr. Schechter, a letter from Aunt Marabella.

Jacqueline put her hands to her blushing cheeks and grinned at her brother, as if recognising how silly she sounded. Spencer spoke quickly, before she could bring herself down. "He sounds lovely," he said, more sincerely. He leaned forward, taking her hands in his own. He tugged her to the bed. "It is very good to see you happy."

"Thank you," Jacqueline said, ducking her head in embarrassment. She kissed Spencer's hair and left him, closing his door. Spencer took a moment after she’d gone just to revel in the happy, light feeling she’d brought with her, then turned back to the mail.

He always liked saving Ryan' letters for last, so he sat that aside and opened his Aunt’s letter instead. She wrote occasionally, probably because she felt it was only proper. As usual it was filled with all sorts of news on how well her two sons were doing, and how Guistavo would be attending university in the springtime, and the jewellery store was making quite a profit this time of year. Spencer didn't care if it meant he had a horrible temper, but he balled up the letter and lobbed it at the fire. 

Mister Schechter had some good news about an investment he'd lined up, and wanted Spencer to come into his office to discuss it at his earliest convenience. There was also in the mail a notice on his taxes being due, and then there was only Ryan' correspondence left. He opened the letter first, smiling as he saw the familiar script filling up the pages.

_My Dear Spencer,_

_I hope this reaches you in time for the holiday. I thought perhaps you might be wanting for some new reading material. This should keep you busy for a while, at least. My dorm mate Maynard has a friend in England who sends it over. It is quite the hot commodity here._

_School continues to be as tedious as can be imagined. This semester's load is a great deal of Biology and I never had the way with Science that you did. Professor Kep has threatened to keep me over for spring break if I don't do well on midterm. I'm not so fond of him, but I think you and he would get along splendidly._

_I need to keep this brief, as I'm supposed to be meeting Alex for dinner and I need to get this out with today's post, but I think I've asked enough without an answer either way, for you to come visit me here. I know you're busy there, and so I've decided I'll just have to come visit you. Spring break begins on the 14th of March, and lasts through the end of the month. I've spoken with father already, and he's already booked my travel by train. He and mother send their regards, by the bye._

_Until March I remain_

_Your friend,_

_Ryan_

Spencer's heart was beating so loudly he could hear it pounding in his head. He wasn't sure whether it was a good sort of excitement, or bad. It would be so good to see Ryan again. They hadn't seen one another in nearly three years. They'd been inseparable as children, studying, working and playing together. Spencer’s mother had always referred to Ryan as her other son.

But people changed. Spencer sometimes felt he was conversing with a stranger through their letters. They led entirely different lifestyles now, in entirely different worlds. Ryan was growing and learning and meeting exciting new people and moving on in his life and Spencer….Spencer was just standing still, stagnating. They wouldn't have a single thing in common.

Spencer set aside the letter, still feeling strangely disconnected from the reality that was Ryan coming to visit. He lifted the package. It was fairly light, long and flexible. He tore away the red paper and revealed a stack of several issues of a magazine. The topmost read _The Pearl._

The artwork was largely abstract, but looked something like a woman's naked silhouette. Spencer frowned, wondering just what Ryan had sent him. It was late, though, and he was tired. He placed the stack in the drawer of his bedside table and sank down between his sheets, pinching out his light.

Sleep was a long time in coming, his mind refusing to remain quiet for any substantial length of time, listing a thousand reasons why Ryan should not come. In the end, though, it all came back to the thought that, no matter how miserable his current situation, no matter how embarrassing it would be for Ryan to see him like this, Spencer _wanted_ to see him.


	4. Chapter 4

The weather was clearing nicely by the third week of February. It hadn't snowed in several days, and the sun was melting what remained quite quickly. Brendon and Spencer spent their mornings tapping the maples, positioning the spouts and hanging the buckets. They wouldn't have any substantial, useable amount of sap for several days, but the sun had thawed the trees enough that the sap was running. 

Sometimes the task could get painful and tedious, and by the third day, Spencer's muscles were screaming in protest. Brendon kept him distracted as always, making conversation.

"So your mom was born in Italy, your pa was British…how'd they ever meet and end up out here in the middle 'a nowhere," Brendon asked one afternoon.

Spencer supposed you could only go on with small talk for so long before you ran out. It wasn't a place Spencer reached often with others. After you reached that point you either had to cut off the relationship, keep it at the same place, or move forward. Spencer wasn't a big fan of sharing his personal information. All the people who knew these details were people who’d known him all his life.

Brendon took his hesitation for his answer and shrugged. "Sorry, I didn't mean…"

"Grandfather moved his family from Italy to New York City when Mother was thirteen. Father saw Mother in the park, and said he fell in love at first sight." Spencer paused, hoping he conveyed with his tone of voice his opinion on the matter. 

"Grandfather didn't approve of the match, and so they eloped. When they had me, the moved back to New York. I suppose they used me to win over Grandfather." He was aware of how bitter he sounded, and he didn't care. Mother had always said he showed his emotions too much, but he didn't see how that was a bad thing.

"I didn't mean to bring up a sore subject," Brendon said, giving Spencer a way out.

Spencer paused, in the process of driving a spike into the tree, his muscles thanking him. He leaned against the tree. "Grandfather got sick when I was twelve, and he and Father got into an argument. No one would tell any of us children what had happened, only that Father would no longer inherit the business, but that it would pass to my uncle, instead.

"So my mother had this brilliant idea that a vineyard would support the family, and then when she saw the orchards in the east, she wanted one of those as well. And of course Father would never withhold from her that which she desired.

"And then, what profits we did make my father spent on paying for this mansion and gambling and whoring and then he probably got himself and my mother killed by a pimp or a debt collector, and that, as they say, is that. And now I am left with this,” he gestured to the farm around him. 

He took a deep, shuddering breath, and couldn't look at Brendon. He didn't want to see the pity. Somehow he felt better now that it was out in the open, and worse, because there was still nothing he could do.

"I didn't mean to—" Brendon began again, but Spencer shook his head. 

"I wouldn’t have told you if I didn’t want to,” Spencer said. Something about Brendon made him want to share everything, all the dark little secrets he held close, all the desperate, helpless anger, all the awful things he thought. Somehow, he thought Brendon might understand. Or at the very least, not hold such things against him.

Brendon's hand touched his shoulder lightly and the smile that came upon Spencer's lips wasn't all forced. "Your turn," he said ruefully.

The hand dropped and Brendon turned away, going back to work. "I've told you all there is to know," he said at length. 

Spencer felt anger rise up in his chest and his cheeks went hot. "How did you come to America?" he persisted.

"Same as your ma," Brendon said evenly. "My pa was sick and tired of having everything we owned and made being taken by the government. He moved us all to New York. And I didn't stick around long."

As quickly as his anger had come, it was gone. Brendon sounded just as bitter as Spencer felt, and it was clear he didn't want to think about it. He cast about, trying to think of a way to change the subject, but he kept coming up with nothing. The silence stretched between them and Spencer worried he'd asked too much.

"Sorry, it's just I don't get many people wanting to know about me," Brendon said. He was working steadily, very pointedly not looking at Spencer.

A sharp, tight feeling spread through his chest, entirely different from the feeling of anger. He could understand, because usually he didn't want to know about other people. Brendon made Spencer so curious that he wanted to learn as much as he could, but Brendon gave so little. 

It was strange and made his heart go more quickly. He'd never been good at making friends. He'd clung to Ryan alone while Ryan had dozens of friends. He hadn't found anyone to let close since then. Perhaps it was about time.

* 

By the end of the week, Spencer’s body felt as though it was one big bruise. The muscles in his arms and shoulders were sore from reaching above his head to do the tapping of the trees, and his thighs and calves hurt from crouching for long periods of time to do the same low down. Jacqueline had taken pity on both him and Brendon, and she and the girls had set out steaming baths for both of them after dinner on Friday.

Before relaxing in the water, Spencer took out the first of the magazines in the stack from Ryan. The contents page wasn’t any more promising than the cover, and Spencer remembered how Ryan had always been far more occupied with the thought of sex than Spencer himself had. When they were boys, Ryan had cooked up dozens of schemes involving sex shows, prostitutes and brothels. 

The first story was entitled _Abandon_ , and from the start, it was clear what sort of direction the narrative was taking. Though he told himself he should put it down, Spencer found he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the words on the page.

_“Here, Isabelle, feel my arrow of love, risen just for you,” Nicholas groaned, placing her hand over his cock._

_Isabelle’s eyes went wide and she squeezed hesitantly. Her small, pale hand was soft and unsure, and the touch was intoxicating. “What should I do?” She asked in an awed, quavering voice  
.  
“Just pull a little,” Nicholas gasped.  
_   
Spencer felt his stomach tightening, his groin growing unbearably hot. He’d developed his own erection, swelling with every passage he read. Still, he could not look away, though he was sure his cheeks were burning with embarrassment. He shifted in the water, trying to become more comfortable, but to no avail.

The next story was even more risqué, reminding him of the book Ryan had sent him in the fall. _The Picture of Dorian Grey_ had been creative and vague, but Spencer knew enough of deviance and of Oscar Wilde himself not to be fooled. This story in _The Pearl_ didn’t even bother to try to hide, and it couldn’t even be considered undertones when…when…

Spencer groaned, his hips thrusting up of their own accord. He could almost _feel_ the sensations—fingers brushing his sensitive nipples, soft lips around his most intimate flesh, sliding in to warm, tight, welcoming heat. 

The magazine dropped from Spencer’s nerveless fingers, landing with a loud smack on the hardwood floor. Spencer didn’t hear it, could only hear his own heavy breathing as he closed his own hand around his cock and began to stroke desperately. He found his completion far too quickly, and wished he could have prolonged it. Perhaps he could take another bath tomorrow; it was the weekend. He could certainly find time alone to read.

*

"Spencer Smith!" Jacqueline roared, when he announced on the fourteenth of March that Ryan would be arriving the next day. Brendon winced and offered him a sympathetic look.

"I really don't understand what this has to do with you,” Spencer began in a reasonable sort of voice.

"Well, let me enlighten you, then," Jacqueline said through her teeth. Brendon got up and left. Several of the younger ones followed. Heather and Silvia stayed, watching with some interest. "We only have so many bedrooms, and all of them are _occupato. Capite?_ So then I need to find a place for him to sleep. I need to make extra food at the meals. I need to know these things. And _besides_."

"I'm sorry,” Spencer said. It was probably too late to head her off before it got out of hand.

" _È il mio amico, troppo_ ,” she shouted.

"I know,” Spencer said. "I'm sorry. I hadn't thought. I…" He took a shaky breath, unsure how to explain to her why hadn’t said anything. 

Jacqueline and Crystal had indeed been close with Ryan, and Spencer had always been a bit jealous. They were so much more charming than Spencer had ever been, and he’d often worried that she would steal away his best and only friend. Now that Jacqueline was grown, he feared that even more.

Jacqueline gave him a dark look and stormed from the kitchen, muttering just loud enough to be heard by the entire house about making room. Spencer sighed heavily, putting his head in his hands. He thought, not for the first time, that maybe having Ryan to visit wasn’t the best idea in the world.

Brendon stuck his head in the kitchen. “The storm passed?”

Spencer swept his hand out in a grand gesture. “Come on in,” he said. Brendon pulled up the chair next to him and sat down, regarding Spencer with an indiscernible look.

“So, this Ryan fellow, old friend, I assume,” Brendon said. His fingers drew patterns on the table.

“Yes,” Spencer said weakly. That was another thing. For whatever reason, unknown to him, Spencer didn’t feel it was a good idea for Brendon and Ryan to be around one another.

“Ah,” Brendon said, as if he understood, and nodded his head. Silence spread out between them. 

Unexpectedly, images from the magazine he’d read flashed through Spencer’s mind, and in his mind’s eye, he saw himself reaching out, taking a hold of Brendon’s wrist, pulling him in…

Spencer stood up quickly, knocking his chair over. He stumbled backward. Brendon stood too. “Hey, you okay?” He looked concerned. Spencer held out a hand and sidestepped toward the door, feeling his heart race. If Brendon looked at him too closely, he’d know.

“I, ah…” Spencer felt short of breath. “I should go help Jacqueline,” he said quickly, and dashed out of the room.

In his own room, door firmly closed and locked, Spencer collapsed onto his bed, his heart rate out of control. It had to be the fault of the magazine. Before that, why, he’d barely touched himself and hadn’t had the least bit of interest in a sexual relationship. 

And now, because of it, he was so desperate that he turned to the only person around him not of his family, regardless of the fact that it was a person of the same gender. He buried his face in his pillow, feeling as though he might be swallowed up by guilt.

Spencer drew out the nearest magazine, and opened to a random page. He forced himself to conjure up the image of a woman—any woman. The school mistress came to mind. She was pretty, with strawberry blonde curls and full lips and a curvy frame. She always smiled when she saw Spencer. He focussed on her image, reaching into his waistband and taking himself in hand. He was already hard from the thought of kissing Brendon, but he shoved that name from his mind and thought instead of the girl. Miss Greta. 

The story was, suitably enough, about a thin blonde being bound and whipped, her generous breasts heaving. Spencer imagined them pressed against his chest, but had no concept of the sensation. He tried to imagine her dripping desire, her long hair, any of it, but all he could see was Brendon’s teasing smile, Brendon’s sparkling eyes. Brendon’s lips looked soft…Spencer cried out into his pillow, coming into his hand.

*

Everyone wanted to come to town, but in the end, Spencer went on his own to greet Ryan. He needed the time to adjust to the situation on his own, first. The entire ride to town he focused on Ryan and how he would enjoy their time together and _how nice_ it would be to have an intelligent person around. He didn’t think at all about how clever Brendon was, or how concerned he’d acted after Spencer’s behaviour the previous evening.

Ryan disembarked from the train with a glowing smile, looking far taller and handsomer than he had been in Spencer’s memory. “Hello, dear boy,” he called, taking Spencer by the elbows and pulling him for a hug. 

They were of a height, Spencer’s chin resting easily on Ryan’s shoulder. It made him wonder how Brendon, small and compact, would fit in his arms. He closed his eyes tightly and willed away the thought.

“Ryan,” he said. Ryan smelled like ink and tea. “I’m sorry the others couldn’t come…”

“Ah, it’s better this way,” Ryan said. “I get you to myself for a bit. In fact, any way we could stop for a drink before heading off?”

“Oh? Um…” Spencer was surprised, but pleased. He couldn’t stop smiling. “Of course. If, that is, you don’t mind being touched inappropriately by women with loose morals and questionable intentions.”

“Sounds like just my sort of place,” Ryan exclaimed, clapping Spencer on the back. Spencer bent, taking one of his suitcases and they loaded Ryan’s things in the carriage before heading into The Carriage House saloon.

“How absolutely quaint!” Ryan said, a bit loudly, when they stepped inside. As always, the music was playing raucously, the girls were dancing in little clothing, and the men were as drunk as dogs. “You know, I’ve heard stories about your bars out here, but this… _this_ is just…too perfect.”

Some of the towns’ people were regarding Ryan with suspicious eyes and Spencer did a poor job of hiding his smile as he nudged Ryan further into the saloon. 

“Mister Smith,” the bartender said. Spencer nodded back, and led Ryan away, toward a table in the back. Ryan followed, hands twitching like he longed for a pen and paper.

“I love it, I want to move here,” Ryan said. “Father would never think to look for me here. Do you think they let rooms?”

“By the hour, most likely,” Spencer said dryly.

“Too perfect!” crowed Ryan. 

“Ryan,” Spencer chastised softly, under his breath. “You’re drawing attention to us.”

“So?” Ryan challenged. “Darling girl!” He shouted to a passing waitress. She gave him an impish grin and veered off course to stop by their table. She propped her hands on the table, pushing her bosom together and leaning over Ryan. “Get me the strongest thing you’ve got, and for my friend…”

“Um…Scotch and water,” Spencer murmured. 

Ryan waved a dismissive hand. “Make that two of the strongest things you’ve got.” The waitress winked and pushed off before Spencer could make an indignant noise.

“Live a little,” Ryan urged him. He scooted his chair closer to Spencer’s and crossed his arms at the wrist, and pinned Spencer with a somewhat unnerving stare. “Ah, Spence, _God_ you’ve changed.”

Spencer felt his cheeks flush. “H…how do you mean?” he asked. 

“You look like you’ve been working out, and you’ve grown out your hair, and you’ve gotten taller.” Ryan paused, a far away look about him. “You’re all grown up.”

“I’m only a year younger than you,” Spencer pointed out defensively. “And I’ve been working on a farm. What do you expect?”

Ryan pulled a face and took a drink when their waitress placed glasses of amber liquid before them. “Honestly! A farm!” He shook his head. “You really need to come home with me.”

Spencer felt the familiar pain tugging at his heart. _Yes_ he wanted to say. _God yes, take me away from here._ But then he thought of his siblings, and…Brendon. Spencer turned his gaze to the table top.

“How are you, really?” Ryan asked. He reached out to lay his hand over Spencer’s. “First Crystal, then your Grandmother. Now your parents. Spence, I’ve been so worried about you.”

“It’s…” Spencer didn’t know what to say. Three years ago, right after Crystal had died, Spencer had wished desperately for Ryan’s presence. Ryan had always been the one Spencer could talk to, about anything. 

Their parents had been little comfort, as always self-absorbed. It had been up to Jacqueline and Spencer to console the younger children. Up to Spencer to hold Jacqueline as she sobbed every night for months, suffering a loss Spencer couldn’t begin to understand. It was as if a part of her had died along with Crystal, a part Spencer could see missing even now. 

Time and further loss had hardened Spencer against the pain. Now he didn’t see the point in talking. It didn’t make him feel any better about things. He made himself smile, but it felt tight and brittle around the edges, and he knew Ryan saw right through it. “We’re doing fine, carrying on.” 

Ryan stared at him for a long moment, and then he nodded, accepting. Spencer let out a sigh of relief. “If you want to talk…” Ryan said. 

“I know,” Spencer said. “I appreciate it.” Ryan squeezed his hand, and Spencer gently pulled away, leaning back in his seat. Then he threw back a good portion of his drink all in one go. “Tell me all about university.” 

The afternoon bled into the evening, and one drink led to another, led to five, and before Spencer knew it, it was nearly nine in the evening and he was plastered. “You shouldn’t go out in cold weather like this,” Ryan said in a very somber tone of voice, but the effect was ruined by his slurred words.

“Are you suggesting we stay here?” Spencer prided himself on being able to speak clearly, but it took a great deal of effort, and longer than he thought was probably strictly required.

“Are you concerned about being touched inappropriately by women with loose morals and questionable intentions?” Ryan asked, leering at Spence. “We can share a room. I’ll protect you.”

The mere suggestion made Spencer feel hot all over. With the way he’d been dreaming lately, the thought of letting anyone see him while he was vulnerable in sleep was terrifying. “I’ll be fine,” he said. The alcohol had made his voice come out hoarse.

“Suit yourself,” Ryan said, shrugging. “I’m going to find someone who _will_ want to take me up on my offer.” He staggered off after their waitress, while Spencer took care of securing lodging for the evening.

“Sure you don’t want to join us?” Ryan asked. Spencer looked up from fiddling with the lock to his own door. The waitress under Ryan’ arm gave Spencer an appraising look.

Spencer forced a smile and pushed his door open. “No, thank you,” he said, his throat tight around the words, and went in.

*

Jacqueline was waiting to greet them at the door when they arrived home the next morning. “Where on Earth have you been? I’ve been worried sick about you,” she hissed at Spencer as he passed. “Ryan!” she exclaimed and kissed both his cheeks twice, quickly, “Buongiorno!”

“Well, Miss Jacqueline,” Ryan said. “You look simply radiant this morning.” Jacqueline blushed and Ryan put down his bags to embrace her. Spencer had to look away, feeling like he was invading on something private.

“Ryan, still the flirt, I see,” Jacqueline said. The two of them laughed and Spencer shifted on his feet. 

“Where’s Brendon?” Spencer asked.

“Brendon?” Ryan echoed with a small frown.

“He’s out in the field with the children. Doing _your_ chores,” Jacqueline said. She kept grinning, as though she couldn’t believe Ryan was here.

“I should go help,” Spencer said.

“I’ll come with you,” Ryan said. 

Spencer gave him a dubious look. “What?” Ryan protested. “I can do physical labour.” Spencer felt his brow arching higher.

“Why don’t you stay in and help Jacqueline with the lunch,” Spencer suggested. “I’d hate for you to wrinkle one of your fancy suits.”

Ryan glared at him and shoved past him up the steps. Spencer changed into his work clothing, and when he returned to the foyer, Ryan had changed into a more casual outfit and boots. They made their way out through the orchard, and Ryan looked around them in awe.

“This place is absolutely amazing,” Ryan said. He took a deep breath, eyes falling closed. “It’s so eerily quiet, and there’s all this open space.”

“I know, just unnatural, really,” Spencer teased. They shared a smile.

“This doesn’t seem like you,” Ryan said, and he sounded surprisingly earnest.

Spencer paused. He didn’t want to encourage Ryan, to make him think he might return to Pennsylvania with him. If Ryan continued to make the offer, Spencer wasn’t sure he could keep resisting. “It takes some getting used to. But some things make it worth it.”

“Oh?” Ryan asked, looking around them. “What?”

Honestly, Spencer didn’t even know why he’d said that. He cast about for some answer but was saved by Selena, who had seen them and gave a little shriek. She and Silvia were making a game of gathering the leaves and weeds with the younger children. The other children followed her gaze and gave similar cries, all rushing to Ryan.

Brendon looked up at all the sound, dumped his pile of waste in the nearest wheelbarrow and shucked his gloves, approaching more sedately. “Glad you’re back,” he said. His tone was so warm, sending shivers down Spencer’s spine. “I was worried Miss Jacqueline was going to form a search party if you were out much longer.”

Spencer laughed, and a little of the tension he’d been feeling since the previous evening dissipated. “I’m sorry,” he said. He had to resist the oddest urge to touch Brendon somehow, just glad to be in his presence again.

Ryan was watching them both, still being mauled by the children. His gaze was heavy and serious though his lips were smiling. “Going to introduce us, Spence?” he asked.

Spencer looked between them nervously, but Brendon took the initiative. He crossed to where Ryan stood and offered a hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Mister Ross,” he said politely. There was something in his tone that Spencer hadn’t heard in weeks, now. Something fake, like he was purposely trying to make Ryan believe he was less worthy of attention than he truly was. “I’m Brendon. Heard a lot about you.”

“I wish I could say the same,” Ryan said.

Brendon shrugged. “Haven’t been around here that long,” he said by way of explanation. 

Spencer frowned, because Brendon had been here three months now, and Spencer hadn’t thought to mention him in a letter to Ryan. Now that he thought of it, it was strange, and couldn’t say why he hadn’t.

“Well, I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to get to know one another over the next few weeks,” Ryan said. 

“I look forward to it,” Brendon said. It was as though the two of them were having entirely different conversations with their mouths and the rest of their faces. “I should really be getting back to work. It’s what I’m being paid for, after all.”

“Oh, I’m going to help,” Spencer said. “You shouldn’t have had to do all my morning chores.”

Brendon smiled at him kindly and it made Spencer’s stomach do a little flip. “No worries. Enjoy your guest.”

“It’s alright,” Spencer said. He grabbed a rake from where it had fallen, discarded, on the ground.

“I’m already dressed for it and the weather is so nice.” He felt a little silly saying it, but didn’t much care. “I love spring at the orchard best. Usually everyone else finds it tedious, but I like cross-pollinating the trees. It takes a lot of time, but…I don’t know why I like it, actually,” Spencer admitted, tilting his head to the side. Brendon laughed a little and Spencer joined him.

“What can I do to help?” Ryan asked, finally breaking free of the little ones.

Spencer looked around himself, unsure. “Ah. Really, Ryan, I’m not certain this is anything you’d want to do.”

Ryan was insistent, though. With him around, the work was done in silence, a tense feeling hovering over the orchard. The younger children eventually abandoned them, and as the sun started to get low on the horizon, Spencer decided to call it a day. 

“I’m starving,” Ryan said, when they came inside. Jacqueline was at the stove and Ryan grabbed her waist. She squealed and smacked at him with her spoon. “I’m not certain, though, that I want to eat anything you’ve made.”

Jacqueline stuck out her tongue. “Well, then you don’t have to eat anything.”

When they were younger, they’d had maids and butlers and two cooks. Spencer couldn’t blame Ryan for being dubious of Jacqueline’s cooking. She’d been a quick learner, though, when Grandmother had taught her and Crystal, upon first moving west. 

“I think it smells delicious, Miss Jacqueline,” Brendon told her.

Jacqueline shot a cool look at Ryan. “Thank you, Brendon,” she said. 

A strange sort of silence descended. Ryan looked as though he was trying not to glare at Brendon. Jacqueline didn’t seem to notice. “Why don’t you boys go get cleaned up? Spence, I’ve put you in with Aaron, and Ryan, you can have Spencer’s room.”

“I’d hate to displace anyone,” Ryan said. “I really don’t mind sharing with you, Spence. It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a room.”

Spencer swallowed hard, and Brendon left the room silently. “You’re the guest,” Jacqueline said with finality. “It’s only right.”

Dinner was a pleasant affair. The food was, as always, delicious. Once they’d had a few drinks, even Ryan and Brendon seemed more comfortable around one another. Or at least tolerant of one another. Brendon was uncharacteristically quiet as Ryan answered the questions the family posed to him.

When the children had been sent to bed, Jacqueline stayed up with Ryan and Spencer in the living room, reminiscing by the fire. Spencer asked Brendon to join them, but Brendon said he didn’t wish to interfere. When Spencer persisted, Brendon said it wasn’t his place. Ryan seemed to approve of this. 

The three of them spent the evening drinking and discussing their memories of childhood. For the first time in years, Jacqueline freely spoke of her twin, and with fond nostalgia, only tinged slightly with sadness. It was warm and comfortable, and so like being back in New York that it filled Spencer with a vivid, bright pain in his chest.

They went to bed in the wee hours of the morning, but Spencer found it difficult to sleep. Aaron took up a great deal of the bed for having such a small body, and he moved a lot, kicking and hitting. Spencer curled on his side, staring blankly out the window, blaming his feeling miserable on the alcohol. It was easier that way.

*

Spencer woke late the next morning with a start. Even Aaron was already up. The sun had dawned, glistening on the glass of the window pane. He sat up quickly, ashamed that it was now two days his morning tasks had been left to Brendon. He stumbled out of bed and pulled on his clothing, running downstairs while still fastening his shirt. He stopped short when he saw Brendon seated at the bottom-most stair, pulling on his shoes. 

Brendon turned at the clatter Spencer was making, and there was a full moment when Brendon’s gaze lingered on Spencer’s naked chest. “Mornin,’” he said at length, and turned back to his shoes.

Spencer’s breath was coming short from hurrying, and his fingers fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. “I’m so sorry, Brendon,” he said. “You really shouldn’t be doing all the work on your own. I stayed up far too late last night.”

Brendon stood, stamping his feet into his boots. Spencer didn’t know when he’d come to expect that gesture, but it was something that made him think of Brendon. When Brendon turned again, he didn’t look upset. There was a little smirk playing around his lips. “You’ve got your buttons done up all crooked.”

“Oh…” Spencer looked down and saw that the reason he was having trouble buttoning his last button was because there was no slot for it. He shook his hands in frustration. 

Brendon laughed, reaching out and taking Spencer’s hem in hand. “S’alright. Ryan got up early this morning. Before me, even. He was already doing your chores when I got outside.”

“Oh.” It was all Spencer could say, because when Brendon had taken hold of his shirt, all thoughts had left his head, and the rushing of his blood had become exceptionally loud. The temperature of the room seemed to have increased by several degrees. 

Brendon unbuttoned a few buttons, set them straight, and buttoned them again. “There,” he said. His tone was indulgent.

Ryan walked in from the kitchen and paused at seeing them. Brendon very quickly let go of Spencer’s shirt. Spencer cleared his throat and shifted his weight to the side, hand on his hip. “I heard you did my chores for me,” he said lightly. “Are our poor cattle still alive?”

“Funny,” Ryan said, though he sounded far from amused. “I was just coming in for breakfast.” He stormed out the front door. 

Concern flared up in Spencer. He gave an apologetic look to Brendon and hurried out after Ryan. “You know,” he said, “I didn’t expect you were coming here to do all my work for me.”

“What am I supposed to do then?” Ryan demanded. “Sit around inside all day, being waited on hand and foot?”

“I…” Spencer was at a loss for words.

“I don’t mean to snap at you, Spence,” Ryan said almost at once. He sat down heavily on the front step. “Things have been stressful lately, that’s all. I was hoping coming out here would let me clear my mind.”

Spencer nodded slowly, eyes wide with worry, and sat next to him. “Is there anything—” He paused. He had always been useless with words.

Ryan gave him a pained smile. “It’s just things with my father,” he said. He didn’t offer anything more than that. 

After a moment, Ryan leaned into Spencer’s side. Spencer had to tell himself not to tense up. They used to be so easy with each other as boys, but now it felt too foreign. Ryan sighed and laid his head on Spencer’s shoulder and Spencer made himself breath, slow and steady.

*

It was the third night, after they’d all worked the entire day, and after Ryan had bathed, when he and Spencer were alone by the fire with scotch, that Ryan decided to talk.

"Dad's been putting a bit of pressure on me," Ryan said at length, staring pensively at the fire.

Spencer waited for clarification, but Ryan gave none. "About school? About your choice of profession?"

"About becoming engaged to Elizabeth," Ryan said. He sounded weary.

"Well…" Spencer didn't know what to say to that. He'd never been in any relationship, let alone one so long term as Ryan's with Elizabeth. He supposed he should feel lucky that for all their failings, his parents had never tried to force him into marriage. "But it's only an engagement."

"Yes," Ryan agreed with a rueful smile. "A long engagement, to be concluded at my commencement."

"But I don't understand,” Spencer said. "You've been with Elizabeth for…well…forever. You two have been in love since we were kids."

"Oh, Spence." Ryan put his head in his hand, his eyes falling closed.

Spencer was out of his depth. He had no idea what was really taking place here. Ryan had always been so good at comforting him. He'd helped Spencer through countless rough spots in his life, most notably the death of his grandfather. 

And now all Spencer could do to return the kindness was sit silent and gaping, awkward and useless. He got to his feet, moving to crouch beside Ryan' chair. For a second, he hesitated, hand in the air, before letting it fall on Ryan' shoulder.

"I've been so tempted to just run away," Ryan said in a low, urgent voice. Spencer's eyes widened. He shook his head, but Ryan wasn't looking at him. 

"They want so much from me. Father expects me to just trust that he knows best in every aspect of my life, and I should just do as he says. I never wanted to practice medicine. I never wanted to go to school in Philadelphia. I never wanted to marry anyone, least of all Elizabeth. I feel like I'm living someone else's life entirely, and I just _want out_.” His voice grew louder with word that passed his lips until he was practically shouting.

Spencer knew that feeling of being trapped, knew that it never got better, only worse. But Ryan had all the things Spencer wanted. Spencer _really_ didn't know what to say to that. He let his hand slide up and down Ryan' arm in what he supposed might be a soothing gesture.

"Spence—" Ryan' voice had gone soft and quiet all the sudden. He licked his lips, darting a glance at Spencer. "I…"

"What is it?" Spencer asked, trying to sound encouraging. 

Ryan' gaze dropped to Spencer's mouth and Spencer wetted his lips in nervous response. "Spence," Ryan said again. He tilted his head to the side, leaning closer, his eyes drooping closed. Spencer felt his own eyes go even wider, frozen still, unable to believe that what he thought was happening was actually happening.

Footfalls sounded on the stairs and that shocked Spencer out of his stupor. He stood quickly, all his limbs tingly and weak. Ryan' eyes opened slowly and they looked at each other for a long moment before turning to the stairs. Brendon had come down, dressed in short linen pants and a button down shirt largely unbuttoned, his hair rumpled.

"Were we being too loud?" Spencer said. His heart was beating so quickly. "Were you unable to sleep?"

Brendon shook his head and stretched. Spencer's gaze was drawn to his stomach, where his shirt had risen, baring solid, muscled skin. "Wasn't 'cause of you," Brendon said around a yawn.

"Would you like to join us?" Spencer asked. Ryan narrowed his eyes, even as Spencer gestured for Brendon to have a seat.

"Nah,” he said, but he was looking at Ryan, and his gaze was just as unfriendly as the one Ryan aimed at him. "I'd hate to interrupt. I was just going to grab something to drink. Maybe take you up on the offer of something to read?"

"Oh. Oh! Of course,” Spencer said. He didn’t care to examine the reason for his enthusiasm. After all, he always loved to share his books with others, though the opportunity was rare.

"Perhaps the magazines I sent you," Ryan said, something both teasing and cruel in his voice.

Brendon looked at him oddly, and Spencer blushed furiously, mind racing with thoughts of what might happen if…just _if_. Spencer clamped down on those thoughts quickly. "Maybe you'd like Arthur Conan Doyle. I have a couple of his novels upstairs, I can—"

"I can get them. You enjoy yourself," Brendon insisted, and disappeared into the kitchen.

Spencer felt his heart beat slowly returning to normal and took a deep breath. If Brendon hadn't come down just then…Spencer repressed the urge to put his fingers to his lips.

"How impressive your Brendon is," Ryan said in a scathing tone. "Strong and intelligent both? Does the chores, charms the ladies, _and_ reads literature?"

"He is a good worker and a good friend,” Spencer said, somewhat defensively. He crossed his arm over his chest and retook his seat. There was a panicky feeling in his chest, so close to and alone with Ryan. 

Ryan couldn't have meant to…he hadn't been…he wasn't going to…Spencer coloured and shook his head. He wanted to go to bed, but he didn't want to leave Ryan while he was still so clearly distressed. So he just sat there, uncomfortable with the silence.

"Did _you_ enjoy the magazine I sent you?" Ryan asked after a long silence. 

Spencer’s heart fell to his toes. Once again he had an image in his head of being touched in the ways described in the stories. He cleared his throat. "It isn't the sort of thing I'd normally read.”

"That's not what I asked," Ryan said. There was something off-putting about his smile, almost more like a leer, really.

Vaguely, Spencer wondered what had happened to his best friend. "As far as the writing goes, it is acceptable. I did not read a great deal of it. There was no redeeming quality to the material."

Ryan' smile grew wider. "I think you're lying to me,” he said.

Spencer huffed, trapped. He pushed himself to his feet and turned, regarding Ryan over his shoulder. "If you can't be serious, I'm going to sleep,” he said haughtily. He couldn't get out of sight quickly enough, feeling naked in his nightgown and bare feet.

It seemed while Ryan was visiting, Spencer was setting a trend of being unable to sleep. He lay awake for a long while, not quite able to stop the racing of his heart, the nervous excitement in his stomach. He couldn't yet decide if he was disappointed Brendon had come downstairs, or glad.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel like there's an end in sight. This will probably end up being around 10-12 parts. Having a bit of trouble with the last couple parts, and with this one. I'm not 100% happy with how this chapter turned out, but after fussing with it for several days, I'm giving up and giving in.

With Ryan and Brendon around, Spencer and the children hardly had any work to do. By the time Spencer made his way down to the orchard most mornings, they other two men were already hard at work, clearing away debris, rotted leaves and sprouting weeds. 

The weather was turning fair, and the two men worked in shirts with buttons left undone and sleeves rolled up. Spencer felt it was unnecessary, though amusing, Brendon’s golden tan muscles and Ryan’s pale white, whip thin chest. They seemed to have some sort of unspoken competition going on between them, and that was merely a part of it, along with seeing who could chop the most wood in a day (though now firewood was becoming obsolete), and who could bring home the best game after a day’s hunt.

Though Spencer had been dreading further conversation with Ryan after what had transpired between them, Ryan had been a perfect gentleman the following day, and every day thereafter. Ryan didn’t say again that he wanted to escape from home, but as the end of his vacation drew near, Spencer could sense in him some desperation.

At night, alone, Spencer had an ongoing argument with himself over whether or not he should invite Ryan to stay. He stared at the crackling fire in the hearth and considered if it could possibly work. 

Ryan had always loved the city, even more so than Spencer. Maybe he was adjusting well to farm life now, but he’d only been here such a brief time. Once the novelty wore off he’d grow bored and long for the cafes and museums, and new shows every week, performed by the best musicians. Spencer knew, because it had happened to him.

There was still the somewhat bewildering fact that Ryan didn’t want to marry Elizabeth. Ryan hadn’t exactly been loyal to her throughout the years, but that was how Ryan was. It bothered Spencer, but they were friends and he had to accept Ryan, including his shortcomings. But in the end, Spencer had always thought Ryan and Elizabeth would wed.

“What are you doing up so late?” 

Spencer turned to see Brendon was hovering just in the threshold of the living room. There was something appealing about they way he looked when half-asleep. “Hmm?” Spencer asked, his thoughts frayed and fuzzy with sleep.

“I asked what you were doing up so late,’” Brendon said.

“Trouble sleeping,” Spencer answered. He stood, tugging his nightgown into place. “You seem to have that problem a lot yourself.” He went into the hall, his hip brushing Brendon’s hand as he passed. A spark of heat went down his spine at the light touch. “Do you suffer from insomnia?”

“Just have a lot on my mind,” Brendon murmured.

Ever the mystery, Brendon. So much on his mind, and yet it never crosses his lips. Spencer pushed open the kitchen door. “Have some tea with me?”

A nostalgic smile spread of Brendon’s lips and it made Spencer smile, too. “My mum used to do the same thing when me and my sister couldn’t sleep,” Brendon said, taking a seat at the table. Spencer put the kettle on the stove and nodded for him to continue. Brendon laughed a little. “Mum thought tea could make everything better.”

“I didn’t know you had a sister,” Spencer probed cautiously. He was always eager to learn more about Brendon, but Brendon wasn’t often ready to give up anything new.

“One sister, and three brothers,” Brendon said. “Kara is twenty-three, Jason is nineteen, and Eric and Sean are fourteen and twelve. Had another sister, Molly, but she died of fever long time ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said. “We—I had another—Jacqueline was a twin. Our sister, Crystal, she got sick shortly after we moved here, and never really got better. She just sort of…” Spencer stopped himself. He felt a little sick to his stomach. Talking never made it better.

When Spencer glanced up, Brendon was watching him, expression unreadable. “Molly would be nine now. She died when she was three. She’d had a cold. It was just a cold, and Mother thought it was better. We were visiting my aunt and uncle over Christmas, and when Mother woke, Molly wasn’t breathing.”

Spencer laid his hand on Brendon’s shoulder. Losing Crystal had been so painful, but Spencer couldn’t imagine losing one so young. The idea of anything happening to Aaron, so young and frail, made Spencer’s heart catch up painfully in his throat in fear. “That must have been terrifying.”

Brendon reached back to pat Spencer’s hand. His touch lingered, and Spencer was, oddly, reminded of his parents, the way his father would stand at his mother’s chair before the fire. More than anything, Spencer didn’t want Brendon to move his hand. “I haven’t seen my brothers or sisters in going on eight months, now.”

“Don’t you miss them?” Spencer asked. He cursed himself for asking. This sort of openness on Brendon’s part felt tenuous, ready to snap at the point where Spencer’s questions became too invasive.

“Kara, I do. My brothers and I were never particularly close. But I’ll see them before too long, I expect.”

Spencer frowned. “Aren’t you staying with us?”

Brendon opened his mouth to respond, then closed it again. “As long as I can,” he said.

Spencer didn’t know precisely what that meant, but the thought of losing Brendon left him feeling adrift. “We would miss you, here.”

“Will you?” Brendon asked. He gave Spencer a vaguely confused smile over his shoulder and squeezed his hand before letting go. “I’ll miss all of you, too.” 

*

Gabriel arrived home, day before Ryan’s set date of departure, when things were so unbearably tense and awkward, Spencer thought he might snap. They were in the orchard. Spencer was checking for any signs of disease in the trees, but mostly enjoying the temperate spring weather, when he saw someone approaching from the corner of his eye. 

Though the man was a long way off still, Spencer was familiar with the long strides, the wild, black curls caught in the wind, the bold, colourful clothing. He set aside his book of notes and began jogging to meet Gabriel. Brendon and Ryan were watching him, but he was too eager to see Gabriel to stop and explain.

“Spence,” Gabriel called. He laughed and dropped his bags, meeting Spencer halfway, gripping him hard by his forearms and drawing him in for a tight hug.

Being embraced by Gabriel chased away all of Spencer’s fears about money, and the well-being of his family, of his strange feelings for Brendon and the worry about the orchard. Somehow, Gabriel always managed to make things better.

“Gabe, dear friend,” Spencer said into Gabriel’s neck. The man smelled like musk and spice. “It is so good to have you back. There was talk of an uprising. I was worried you had got involved.”

Gabriel withdrew and Spencer followed him as he gathered his bags. “It wasn’t an uprising, Spence,” Gabriel said. “It was a goddamn massacre.” 

Spencer felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. He was both horrified, and relieved that Gabriel was well. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he said nothing. “It’s over now,” Gabriel said. His expression was closed off and frighteningly blank.

“Is there…” Spencer stopped himself from asking a very stupid question. In the past he’d written letters for Gabriel and his Indian friends, to certain politicians and decision makers. There was nothing to be done about this, after the fact. “I’m sorry, Gabriel.” He hung his head, following as Gabriel began cutting a path through the high grass toward the farm.

Brendon and Ryan were still lingering at the edge of the orchard, watching them warily. If Spencer weren’t so disheartened by Gabriel’s news, he might have found it amusing how close they stood, shoulders almost touching, like a wall. They didn’t like one another, but it was possible they’d set aside their dislike to face this unknown factor together. 

“Couldn’t find just one man to replace me?” Gabriel teased.

Spencer smiled. “No one could replace you, Gabriel,” he said. “Oh, Jacqueline will be so pleased to have you back. I tried, and Brendon and Ryan are much better hunters than I am, but I don’t think any of us hold a candle to you.”

“There is no need to flatter me,” Gabriel said. “I am your man.”

Spencer had to resist the urge to touch Gabriel, to grab him and hang on, and not let go, like a child. Gabriel had done a great job of filling Spencer’s father’s place, even when the man had still been alive, even though Gabriel was only a few years older than Spencer himself. Spencer felt as if his entire body was sighing in relief now.

“Spence,” Ryan said cautiously, when they were in hearing range. Brendon shifted on the spot, crossing his arms over his chest. Gabriel nodded to them both.

“Ryan, Brendon, you’ve heard me speak of Gabriel,” Spencer said. 

“Ah, Mister Ross,” Gabriel said, taking Ryan’ proffered hand. “Indeed I have heard a great deal of you.” 

Ryan smiled winningly. “Gabriel, the same. I must admit, I was wondering where on the Earth you were, but I didn’t feel it was my place to ask.”

Gabriel gave Ryan one of his assessing looks, a little quirk twisting his lips like he saw something Spencer didn’t. Gabriel was very good at gleaning a great deal of information from very little clues. “Will you be with us long?” he asked finally.

Ryan flapped his hands vaguely about in the air. There was a flustered look about him. “Well…ah,” Ryan said. “That remains…that is…”

“He’ll be returning home the day after tomorrow,” Spencer said. He shot Ryan a concerned look.

Gabriel nodded decisively. “Mister Brendon—”

“Just Brendon,” Brendon said. He rocked back on his heels, forehead frowning. “Just doing a job around here, same as you, I expect.”

Something about that made Spencer’s heart feel heavy, and he tried not to let his face fall, but the sharp look from Gabriel told him he’d failed. “Brendon has been a tremendous help,” Spencer said. “He is quite an able hand.” Gabriel nodded again. Spencer cleared his throat. “The family would be eager to see you, Gabriel,” he hinted.

“Of course,” Gabriel said. He hefted his bags higher on his shoulder and levelled a sharp grin at the distant house. “Miss Heather has no doubt been pining for me.” Spencer laughed and shoved his shoulder into Gabriel’s. 

“Allow me,” Brendon said, reaching to lighten Gabriel’s load. That brought Gabriel’s assessing look upon him. After a slight hesitation, he passed one of his bags over.

“We’ll be right along,” Ryan said. He took Spencer by the wrist to keep him from following. Brendon gave them a curious, concerned look over his shoulder, but Gabriel was already several strides ahead, and Brendon dashed after him to keep up.

“What is it?” Spencer said. The way Ryan looked at him was making him uneasy. He had to force himself to stay still, not to tug his wrist free.

“About me leaving,” Ryan said. His fingers flexed, tightening them loosening. He had to feel Spencer’s pulse racing under the touch.

“Ry—” Spencer wasn’t sure what he meant to say, but Ryan stopped him anyway. He walked Spencer backward a few steps until he was pressed against a tree. Spencer opened his mouth to protest, but the sound was swallowed up by Ryan’s kiss. 

Spencer made a muffled sound of surprise, arms flailing out. He pushed at Ryan’ shoulders, struggling against him and turned his head aside. “Ryan!” he panted, shaky with the knowledge that he hadn’t been wrong about all the looks, all the suggestive conversation.

Ryan moved closer, his breath hot on Spencer’s neck. His tongue darted out against Spencer’s earlobe. “I don’t want to go back to Pennsylvania,” he whispered. Spencer kept his hands between their bodies, pushing, but his arms felt weak and useless. 

“Ryan,” he said softly. There was an inexplicable anger rising in him, warring with his sadness. He wasn’t sure what he was feeling precisely, but it wasn’t desire. 

“I don’t want to study medicine and I don’t want to marry Elizabeth,” Ryan continued.

“And you’d have me be your excuse,” Spencer said. He gave another firm push and Ryan finally gave, letting Spencer slip away. “If you wish to escape your responsibilities, then do what you want, but don’t blame me for it.”

“That’s not it!” Ryan said. Spencer turned on his heel and hurried toward the house. Ryan ran behind him. “Listen, Spence, please. It isn’t that I want to use you as an excuse. Please.” He caught a hold of Spencer’s wrist again, but was shaken off. “Please!”

Spencer came to a slow stop, shaking. “What is it, then?”

Ryan moved so close that Spencer could feel the heat from his body, though they weren’t touching. “I…” He trailed off, and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t have predicted it, but I love it here. The quiet and the slow pace. I’ve been writing every night since I’ve come. This place makes me feel so alive. I just want to stay here. And I want—”

Spencer closed his eyes tightly. “Yes?” he asked. He didn’t actually want to hear the rest, he was sure.

“I want to stay with you, and it isn’t because I’m scared of marrying Elizabeth. It’s because I want to be here with you,” Ryan whispered. His forehead came to rest on Spencer’s shoulder. Spencer tensed at the touch, but didn’t pull away. His heart thudded loudly in his chest.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer said. “You’re upset, and I understand, but—”

“We’ve been friends our entire lives,” Ryan said. His hands brushed lightly over Spencer’s shoulders and down his arms. There was a quality to his voice Spencer had never heard, coaxing. “I’ve loved you for a long time.”

Spencer couldn’t help the little gasping hitch that escaped him. “You’re confused,” he said. “That magazine you read—”

“Listen,” Ryan said, speaking fast. He turned Spencer to face him, still holding by the arms. “I don’t have to…” He leaned in close and Spencer thought he was going to be kissed again, but Ryan stopped short. “We don’t have to be like this. I just want to be around you.”

“I don’t…” Spencer shrugged out of the touch, moving toward the house again. “I don’t think that’s a very good idea.”

“Because this is unnatural?” Ryan demanded, hurrying along beside him. “No one would have to know. We could just stay out here, where no one would ever see us. Let me—let me show you. I could help you to understand.”

“Stop it!” Spencer said. Something inside him felt like it was snapping. His mind wouldn’t stop racing.

“No, listen,” Ryan persisted. His eyes narrowed, and Spencer looked away from him. 

“This is wicked and wrong!” Spencer shouted. “The things you read in that magazine, those are fantasies. And if you think for even a moment of doing them in reality, well, you’re absolutely wicked. And I won’t be a part of it.” He was flushed and lightheaded, and sick to his stomach.

“I know you don’t think that,” Ryan said. His voice had gone very quiet, almost dangerous. “I’ve seen how you look at Brendon.”

Spencer missed a step and stumbled forward. He gave Ryan a frantic look. “Wh—what? I don’t know what you’re—you’re _wrong_.” He straightened quickly, walking faster.

“You can’t say to me that you think this is wrong. I know you better than that,” Ryan said. “If you say it’s wicked, then you are too. Why don’t you just be honest with me? Just tell me it’s me you don’t want.”

“I…” Spencer stopped short. There was nothing but a strange rushing noise in his ears, like a river roaring past. All he could think about was the way his skin tingled when Brendon touched him, and how unpleasantly his stomach had turned when Ryan had kissed him.

Ryan let out a short, bitter laugh. “Guess you don’t need to say anything at all,” he muttered. He gave a disgusted wave of his hand and stormed off in the direction of the house.

“Ry—” Spencer tried, but his voice came out hoarse and quiet. “Ryan,” he called again, louder. Ryan snorted and walked faster. 

Spencer’s legs were rubbery and weak and he grabbed hold of the nearest tree branch to steady himself. “Oh my _God_.” This couldn’t be real. He felt as if he should be able to go back ten minutes and do the whole thing differently.

“Hey!” Brendon’s voice called and Spencer looked up panicked. Brendon passed Ryan, giving him an odd look, but continued on toward Spencer. “Hey, Jacqueline’s got dinner going and…” He didn’t act as though he’d seen or heard any of what had transpired.

“Yes?” Spencer asked faintly.

“Are you alright?” Brendon asked. He ducked his head to meet Spencer’s eyes. 

“F—fine,” Spencer said. He released the tree, pushing off, and laid a steadying hand over his own stomach. He didn’t know how he could be expected to eat right now. “Let us go then.”

They went into the house together, and the kitchen was alive with activity. Spencer couldn’t really follow one conversation, with all the voices of varying pitch and volume overlapping, straining to be heard. 

The girls surrounded Gabriel, and he was holding Aaron on one hip and Silvia on the other, laughing at something being said. Ryan wasn’t anywhere in sight. Spencer wanted to excuse himself to go in search of Ryan, but had no idea what he’d say. Anyway, with the entire family so excited about Gabriel’s return, he should act the same.

“Sure you’re alright, there?” Brendon asked. The weight and heat of his hand in the small of Spencer’s back made the hair at the skin at the back of Spencer’s neck prickle. He had to wonder how things might have played out differently if it had been Brendon who had kissed him only moments ago.

“I’m fine,” he said, with a little more force than was necessary. Brendon frowned and dropped his hand.

“You boys go get cleaned up for dinner,” Jacqueline said. “And Gabriel, you can bed with Spencer this evening, and Aaron with me. “I’m afraid it’s going to be tight quarters for the next couple evenings, while Ryan is with us. We’ll figure out more permanent arrangements tomorrow.”

Brendon and Spencer helped Gabriel carrying his things upstairs. Spencer’s door was closed, and there was no sound coming from within. He resisted the urge to knock. “Hey kid,” Gabriel said, when they were alone in Aaron’s room. “You want to tell me what’s going on here?”

Spencer dropped Gabriel’s bag to the floor with a heavy sigh. “I don’t even know, myself,” he said.

By the time dinner rolled around, Ryan had rejoined everyone downstairs. Spencer tried offering him a hesitant smile, but Ryan wouldn’t meet his gaze. Spencer’s mind worked frantically, trying to come up with some way to make things better between them.

Brendon was eager to speak with Gabriel about his travels. The girls listened avidly, chins propped in hands, eyes wide and glazed. Ryan picked at his plate while Jacqueline murmured to him. Spencer couldn’t hear what was being said, and his stomach twisted with anxiety. 

Spencer swore he’d get Ryan alone after dinner, but when the time came, he was made to clear the table with Heather, and by the time he got into the living room, Ryan had gone to bed for the evening. Spencer excused himself, heart thudding loudly in his chest as he overcame his fear and knocked on his bedroom door.

The door opened just a little. “Spence,” Ryan said. “What is it you want?” 

“Might we talk?” Spencer said, running his fingers over the grain of the door.

The door opened a bit wider and Spencer pushed inside. Ryan sat on the bed, tucking a leg beneath him, staring at the bedspread. “What are you going to say, that can make it better?” Ryan asked.

“I—I don’t know. Ryan, I had no idea that you…that…”

“That’s a lie,” Ryan whispered. “You might have tried to ignore it, but I’ve loved you for ages, Spence, and I’ve made it more than clear.”

Spencer sat on the bed, careful to keep a decent distance between them. “H—” He looked around himself for some clue, but it didn’t make any sense. “I’m—how? How did you make it clear? I had no idea.”

“The pressed flowers I sent you—”

“I thought those were for Jacqueline!” Spencer protested. He remembered now how confused he’d been to receive the forget-me-nots and lilacs. He’d passed them off to Jacqueline, trying not to feel slighted for not having received anything at the time.

“And the miniature I sent you,” Ryan continued, his voice rising in volume. 

Spencer’s fingers twitched and he looked to his dresser, where the gift was propped against a jewellery box of his mother’s. “How is that—how was I supposed to know?”

Ryan laughed softly and shook his head, a fond expression on his face. “Oh, Spence, how could you not see? I sent it to you in hopes you would return the favour, so I might keep your likeness close when you could not be. All the letters I sent you, all the overtures I made, all the times I spoke of how I longed to be near you.”

“But I wanted to be near you, too,” Spencer told him. Hesitantly, he moved closer, but stopped short of touching Ryan. Never could he have imagined they’d come to this, and he was afraid of sending the wrong message. “Because you’re my best friend, and I treasure our friendship. How can it—why must it be more than that?”

“It could be better, Spence,” Ryan told him. He reached out and took Spencer’s hand in his.

Spencer met his excited, anxious look head on and tried to imagine what it might be like. To let Ryan lay him back on the sheets, ply him with kisses, run his hands places no one had ever touched. Imagining was nothing like how the stories in the magazine made him feel, how Brendon made him feel, even. Not so wrong as he’d vehemently protested earlier, but not _right_ certainly. “I’m sorry, Ryan.”

“Well what makes Brendon a more likely candidate than me?” Ryan asked. “You’ve known him a few months. And what do you really know about him, anyway? He answers questions with questions. There’s something very suspicious about him. Jacqueline tells me he’s visited the ladies at the saloon regularly.””

“You spent the evening with one of those women yourself,” Spencer said. “And I think this is entirely beside the point. This isn’t about Brendon.” Though what Ryan said was true, Spencer couldn’t explain it to himself, let alone to someone else.

“I think it is. I think if he wasn’t here, you’d never have turned me down,” Ryan accused.

“Well, then I guess it is a good thing he is here,” Spencer said. “If it had happened, it would have been a mistake. I don’t feel the way you do. I don’t love you like that. I’m sorry.” His stomach ached, twisted up in a million knots.

“No,” Ryan said, after a long moment he looked up, a wavering, fake smile stretched across his face. “It’s fine. I think I might head out a bit early.”

“Ryan,” Spencer said.

“S’alright,” Ryan assured him, but he didn’t sound very convincing. “I should be getting home soon, anyway. Have to prepare for this coming semester, and I’m sure my family would like to see me before I have to head out to Philadelphia again.”

“Ryan.” Spencer wanted to hug him, but knew he shouldn’t, so he refrained, fists squeezing the cloth of his trousers. 

“Really, look,” Ryan said, swallowing hard. “You’re right, you are. I love you, but I couldn’t—if you don’t, then that’s that.”

“I’m _sorry_ ,” Spencer said. 

Ryan laughed suddenly, edged in hysteria. “I never should have said—I thought for certain you would—is there any way we can go on from here, as friends?”

“Of course,” Spencer said quickly, relieved. “Of course.” He got up to leave.

“It isn’t how you say, you know,” Ryan said. “It isn’t wicked, or wrong. I know you think you have to believe that, because of what others say, but you only hurt yourself thinking it. And you’ve always thought for yourself, Spence. You’ve always been like me, making up your own mind. You’re too clever to just believe what lies they’ve fed you.”

“Ryan…”

“Accept that you’ll be miserable if you live your whole life never going after what you want most, and accept that you might fail. And then, if he’s worth it, you have to at least try,” Ryan said. He quirked a wry smile at Spencer. “I speak from experience. It’s better to know.”

Spencer let out a shaky laugh. He didn’t resist when Ryan stood and pulled him into a tight hug, arms clasped around his shoulders. Somehow, despite all that had transpired, he felt closer now to Ryan than he ever had before in their lives.

*

“Everything alright?” Gabriel asked.

“Fine,” Spencer said weakly. Spencer had gone into Aaron’s room after his conversation, unable to face anyone else at the time. He’d changed into his nightclothes and pulled the sheets up high, resting in the dim lamplight, staring out the window and seeing nothing.

Gabriel stripped out of his clothing, changing into his night shirt and pants. “Interesting man, Brendon,” he murmured, sliding between the sheets. Spencer rolled onto his side, watching the other man silently. “Likes to answer his questions with questions.”

“Noticed that, have you?” Spencer said. 

“You trust him?” Gabriel asked after another moment. 

“Yes,” Spencer said without hesitation. He couldn’t say why that was, precisely. Something told him that Brendon was only trying to protect himself, and Spencer could understand that.

Gabriel nodded decisively, and Spencer knew that was all they needed to say on the subject. Spencer trusted Brendon and Gabriel trusted him. “Good. I’ve worried about you.”

“It was hard at first,” Spencer answered, resting a hand under his cheek, staring at the wall above his head.

“I had to go,” Gabriel said, as a fact, and it wasn’t apologetic. 

Spencer nodded. He hadn’t exactly ever been angry with Gabriel over his departure, but in the first few weeks he’d thought a number of uncharitable things about the other man. But that had passed with his initial shock over his parents’ deaths, and he’d heard news of what was transpiring in the wilderness of the Dakotas, and he’d known that Gabriel’s presence was needed there more than at the Smith Orchard. 

“But it’s alright now,” Spencer said. He let his eyes close and relaxed. “The girls have helped immensely. Jacqueline took over the household most admirably and has taken good care of Maria and Aaron. And Brendon is a quite eager helper, and a very quick learner. Most mornings he finishes his chores and my own before I wake.”

“Then why do you look so tired?” Gabriel asked. When he laid his hand on Spencer’s arm, all Spencer felt was a familiar, comforting warmth. None of the confusing thoughts or sensations that Brendon’s, or even Ryan’s, touch caused in him.

“I think it has just been a very emotionally trying day. With you arriving home, and Ryan soon leaving,” Spencer trailed off and sighed.

Gabriel snorted softly. “When you feel like tell me the truth, I’ll hear it.”

Spencer huffed an annoyed sigh, and Gabriel chuckled. He leaned over to pinch out the light. Spencer hadn’t realised how tired he was until Gabriel mentioned it, but now he felt exhausted. Almost immediately he began to drift off.

The dreams were persistent. He’d been having them for just about two weeks now, and they were becoming increasingly vivid. Most evenings they started out innocently enough—he and Brendon would be doing every day tasks like raking, hunting, repair work around the farm. Quickly enough the dreams would take a decidedly wicked turn. The stories in _The Pearl_ gave Spencer a starting point, but from there his imagination could extrapolate, giving him all sorts of ideas, which his dreams took with, and ran.

Spencer came awake with a start, breathing heavily. Gabriel was gone already, and Spencer was very grateful, given his current aroused state. No doubt Gabriel would tease him relentlessly if he saw. He flopped back on his pillow, staring blankly at the ceiling in the half-light of the morning. It couldn’t have been past six, but Gabriel was capable of getting by on very little sleep.

Despite what Ryan said, Spencer had to somehow find a way to drive these thoughts from his mind. He pushed himself from the bed into the cool, still air. Spring was fast approaching, and soon the trees would blossom, but now the mornings were still chilly. Shivering set on him quickly, and Spencer curled in on himself, searching quickly through the drawers for fresh clothing. The temperature certainly relieved his arousal.

Work seemed like a good idea. If he could just concentrate on the pollination of the trees, and the setting of bug traps, maybe he could work himself to exhaustion every day and hope for dreamless nights. No more letting others carry his weight.

The kitchen was buzzing with activity when Spencer had cleaned himself and dressed and made his way downstairs. Most of the family was awake and having breakfast, but Heather and Selena were finished and cleaning up in preparation for heading out to begin their chores.

Brendon noticed him first and nodded at him over his breakfast. “Morning, Mister Smith.” Spencer returned the gesture, not quite able to meet his eyes. 

Gabriel was nowhere to be seen, and Spencer was sure he was already somewhere out on the grounds, working. Ryan was studying his breakfast a little bit too intently. Spencer propped his hip on the table, angling towards him, and pitching his voice low just for Ryan. “Morning.”

Ryan looked up with a bright smile. It was painfully fake, and Spencer was angry with both Ryan and himself over this whole affair. 

“Nearly finished?” Jacqueline asked. 

“Yes,” Ryan answered. He pushed his plate across the table to her, though it still had food on it.

“Good. Then, we’ll head out as soon as I’ve made sure Spence is fed,” Jacqueline said. 

“Head out?” Spencer echoed, looking at his sister, then to Ryan.

Ryan wouldn’t look at him. “Thought I’d see if I could get a train out today,” he said.

“Ryan—” Spencer said.

Once upon a time they could read exactly what the other was saying just by looking at each other’s faces. That was long lost, but the hard look Ryan gave Spencer that stopped him from talking. What was there really to say, anyway, especially with all the family present.

“I’ll just go get my things loaded,” Ryan said.

Spencer hesitated before dashing after Ryan. “Let’s not do this this morning,” Ryan said wearily.

“I just hate to see you being so miserable,” Spencer said, hugging his arms around his middle. 

Ryan’s whole posture changed, loosening. He smiled, but it was tainted with melancholy. He came to Spencer, putting an arm around his shoulder. Spencer forced himself not to tense. 

Spencer looked over at Ryan, sharing his smile. He felt a little bit of anxiety, their faces so close. It was sad that he would never again feel as comfortable with Ryan as he once had. “Are you going back to Philadelphia?” 

“Where else would I go?” Ryan asked, brow furrowing.

“Just because I won’t—What I mean is—” Spencer stopped, took a second to reorder his thoughts. Finally he gave in, putting his arm around Ryan’ waist and resting his head on Ryan’s shoulder. “Why must your happiness depend on me? If you are unhappy there, why are you going back?”

“Do you really think you’re the right person to be lecturing me on following my happiness,” Ryan asked him. “You didn’t want to come here when your parents came, you didn’t want to stay when they died…you don’t want to be here even now. You want more, and we both know it. You deserve more. But you won’t leave.”

“I have obligations,” Spencer said around the sudden lump in his throat.

“There you have it, then,” Ryan said. Spencer could hear the wry twist of his lips. “We both have our obligations.”

“Oh, Ryan,” Spencer sighed. “Please try to do what you want once in a while.”

“Same for you,” Ryan said, squeezing Spencer’s shoulders before releasing him. 

Spencer grinned. “We’re quite a pair.”

Ryan nodded. “Yes indeed.” Jacqueline came out the front door, squinting against the morning sun.

“There you are, Spence. What are you doing out here? Your breakfast is getting cold.” She came down the stairs, tapping him lightly on the arm. “Was there anything you needed from town?”

“Um.” Spencer paused, trying to focus on something other than the conversation he’d just been having. “No.” He smiled at Ryan, shy and uncertain. “Will you still write me?”

“Of course,” Ryan said. He sounded more like the Ryan Spencer remembered from years ago now than he had their entire visit. “Can’t let you be completely cut off from culture and intelligent discourse out here.”

“Oh, that’s fine,” Jacqueline said with a huff.

Ryan released Spencer, going to embrace Jacqueline instead. “Well, with a notable exception.”

Jacqueline squealed in laughter, squirming away from Ryan and hitting him solidly on the arm. Spencer knew from experience there’d probably be a bruise there. She climbed up into the driver’s place, taking the reigns and looking to Ryan to join her.

Spencer fidgeted in place, and watched with a feeling of helplessness when Ryan climbed up behind Jacqueline. “Good-bye, then,” Spencer said softly, waving for a second before he felt silly, clasping his hands before him.

Jacqueline waved him off and started the horses off at a trot. Ryan leaned over the side, pressing a kiss to his fingers and blowing it to Spencer. Spencer couldn’t help but smile a little, giving one last wave before turning to go back into the house.


	6. Chapter 6

With the spring came a flurry of activity. Spencer, Silvia and Heather worked most of the day on ladders in the orchard. Teacups full of pollen from other trees, and paintbrushes in hand, they took up the delicate task of dusting the apple blossoms. The scent of the buds was heady and rich, and Spencer loved coming to his bed every evening smelling of it.

Selena worked in her garden every day, weeding, planting, maintaining the current growths. Repairs were needed on the caging to keep out the wind and the worst of any late snow. She had a delicate sort of touch, clearing the area of brush and snow, but careful of vegetables. She’d planted their first seeds a month before, and eagerly, but patiently, awaited their arrival.

Gabriel saw to the care of the livestock, and to hunting, as well as general maintenance around the farm. Sometimes he took Brendon around with him, showing him the ropes. Brendon was, as always, a quick learner, and Gabriel commented on that to Spencer. 

They spent their days in the vineyard, too, turning the soil, so Spencer wasn’t around them much. He’d thought that would help rid him of his ridiculous crush, but it didn’t work just how he’d planned. Rather than being distracted from thoughts of Brendon, he was distracted by them. Heather would speak to him, and he’d jerk into awareness, realising he’d been staring into space, brush poised, daydreaming.

Jacqueline had brightened up the house with new, light coloured curtains and she’d cleaned the windows. She’d taken to making lighter meals and serving sweet pastries. Light, crisp white wine was shared all around in the evenings. The children brought home stories from school, and the family made more and more trips to town, the fair weather making the journey short and pleasant.

Jacqueline also spent more visiting with the young Doctor Glasius. Spencer met him briefly in town, and he’d had to admit the man was charming. From Jacqueline’s accounts, he treated her properly.

And every passing day, it became more and more difficult for Spencer to contain himself around Brendon. His heart thudded heavily in his chest when they stood close, his hands itched to reach out and touch. Brendon didn’t help matters. His skin was becoming darker tan with exposure to the sun, his hair streaked with lighter brown. It was a gorgeous composition with his white smile and sparkling eyes.

Spencer had got past worrying about whether his attraction was right or wrong. He’d never really felt attraction for a woman before. He’d never courted a woman, or even wanted to. He’d never considered the possibility of someday becoming a husband. 

While he’d never felt an attraction for Ryan, either, he’d always thought, when they were younger, that there was no one in the world who could know him so well. He thought now that women were too strange and mysterious for him. He could understand the motivation and desires of men, and that made them more accessible, and easier to love.

So, he supposed, this thing that he wanted was a sin. Well, he’d done a pretty good job of living his life so far. He’d sacrificed a lot for his family, and if this was his chance to have something he wanted, he wasn’t going to waste time worrying about what other people would think. He’d never really cared for the opinion of others, anyway.

The only thing really holding him back at the moment was his concern over Brendon’s reaction. Now that the weather was fair, Brendon spent a lot of evenings in town at the tavern, and there were rumours that he was very popular with the girls. He certainly was a flirt, from what Spencer had seen, and that didn’t lead him to believe Brendon would be very receptive to the idea.

*

In mid-April, Doctor James Glasius and his mother were invited to be their guests for dinner. Jacqueline brought in help for the evening, and Gabriel volunteered to serve, rather than dine with the family, to save trouble and confusion, but Jacqueline wouldn’t hear of it.

“Please all of you be on your best behaviour,” Jacqueline asked, for at least the twelfth time in the past hour. She’d dressed in a beautiful pale blue dress of their mother’s, her long hair curled and gathered in the back to fall over her shoulder. She’d dressed Aaron in his best suit, and Maria in her best dress, and had asked that everyone else don their finest attire, as well. 

Brendon had left earlier in the day, saying he didn’t feel comfortable intruding on the event. Spencer would have preferred to linger in the background with Gabriel, joking over how absurd the whole affair was. Instead, Spencer was now the man of the house and expected to dress in a suit, put on his best behaviour, and greet their guests at the door.

“Dr. Glasius. Madame Glasius,” Spencer greeted, bending his head over Rose’s hand. 

“Mister Smith,” Rose said. “This is a lovely orchard you have, here.”

“Thank-you, Ma’am. Just wait until we have harvest. Jacqueline’s fresh apple pie is the best you’ll ever have,” Spencer said. He felt horribly awkward struggling to make small talk. He offered his arm and they made their way into the dining room.

There were candles lighting the room, casting romantic, sleepy shadows over the room. Jacqueline and James were murmuring to each other in the corner, sipping wine. Spencer pulled out Rose’s seat for her and she took it with a broad smile. The hired help poured into the room, laying out steaming dishes and refreshing everyone’s beverages. The rest of the family took their seats, and food was passed around.

“Oh, you have such a lovely home, Jacqueline, darling,” Rose said. “Such charming siblings, too. It is amazing the way you keep up this home all by yourself.”

“She is an admirable woman,” James murmured, laying a kiss on the back of Jacqueline’s hand. She grinned, not blushing at all. She was practically glowing with happiness. Spencer felt like he’d somehow lost her, but he was happy for her.

“So, James,” Spencer said. “Jacqueline told me you were offered several positions in larger cities, but you chose to come here.”

“I thought I could do with a bit more experience,” James explained, turning his attention to Spencer, but not releasing Jacqueline’s hand. “And Mother used to tell me stories of what it was like as a child without a doctor available for miles. I’ve spoken with my colleagues, and we decided to do a bit of an internship of sorts, in several small towns, until we could find someone in the area to take over full time.”

Spencer still had trouble understanding why anyone would come to Atwana of his own free will, but kept that to himself. “It is very good of you to sacrifice your own ambition to help us,” he said.

“Well, some might see it as a sacrifice, but it brought me to your sister,” James said, and Jacqueline beamed at him. 

After a few glasses of wine, it was a bit easier to carry on conversation. Spencer had always enjoyed science, and it was absolutely delightful to discuss the latest findings of certain journals with another person. Beyond that, James was just a clever, interesting person, and Spencer was infinitely glad Jacqueline had found someone so worthy of her.

After dessert, Jacqueline and James took a walk through the orchard, and the children and Spencer kept Rose amused indoors by the fire. When the sun was long set, Rose and James said their goodbyes. Spencer found it difficult to watch while James and Jacqueline embraced and whispered words of devotion to one another. He found himself wandering through the orchard, feeling the first cool sting of the evening air, bringing with it the scent of apple blossoms. He leaned against a tree, inhaling deeply.

“Oh, Spence, isn’t he wonderful?” Jacqueline asked dreamily, as the sound of Glasius’ carriage disappeared into the night.

Spencer could find no fault in James. “I am very happy for you,” he said. She shivered in the evening air and Spencer drew her to him to keep her warm. 

“He’s asked me to marry him,” Jacqueline said softly. “Just tonight.” She brought up her left hand between them, where the ring sparkled on her finger.

Spencer knew this was her way of asking for his approval, and who was he to refuse her this joy. He kissed the top of her silky hair and squeezed her arm a bit tighter. “Well, you better snatch him right up, before he realises he could do much better.”

“Oh!” Jacqueline squealed and smacked him hard on the chest. She was grinning up at him, though, clenching the hand with the ring in a fist to her chest. “It is so exciting. I wanted to start planning right away, but James thought I should get your permission first.”

“Jacqueline, I don’t own you. And I hope this James knows he will not, either. If you are happy with him, I can do nothing to stand in your way,” Spencer said. He’d never thought it was any one person’s right to keep another from what they wanted. It was one of the few lessons he was glad his parents had taught him.

Jacqueline smile softened, almost as if she was sad, and she leaned her cheek against Spencer’s chest. “We thought a summer wedding would be nice. That way I could wear Madre’s dress. And we could hold the ceremony here in the orchard. James is very progressive. He and his mother aren’t very religious.”

Spencer couldn’t resist smiling when she spoke so dreamily of these things. He was excited for her, excited about her prospects, and her future. He was very careful to keep from becoming jealous. “That sounds lovely.”

“I’d still like you to give me away, no matter what you think of it,” Jacqueline said. “It means a lot to me, you know. You’ve always cared for me, and you’ve always protected me, and…”

Spencer pressed another kiss to her hair. “I’ll do it,” he said. They fell silent, the night around them coming alive with the sounds of bird singing, wind rustling the leaves, and in the distance, the children playing in the yard.

“I had better get those little ones to sleep,” Jacqueline said at length. Spencer nodded his agreement and watched her go. He didn’t even want to think of what life was going to be like without her assistance here, but he couldn’t dream of holding her back. 

Jacqueline was soon to turn eighteen. It was not yet time for her to be a mother, and a year of make-believe was enough. It was time for her to enjoy her youth with someone she loved, and who loved her in return.

Spencer let out a long sigh and turned away from the house, heading further into the orchard, instead. The moon was big and bright, no doubt having provided the perfect romantic setting for James’s proposal. Something bitter and cruel rose up in Spencer and he crushed it ruthlessly, forcing a smile on his lips.

Taking hold of a low hanging branch, Spencer swung out and up, locking his legs around the limb as well and pulling himself up. He climbed closer to the trunk of the tree, where the branches didn’t quaver so much under his weight, and found a nice little v where he could settle comfortably. He leaned back into the cold, hard bark and closed his eyes, enjoying the moment and trying not to think of the not so distant future when he would lose Jacqueline.

“Almost didn’t see you up there,” Brendon called from below. He sounded slightly inebriated, louder than usual, but he also sounded happy. 

“Good evening?” Spencer asked, crawling forward and sprawling over the branch, letting his legs hold him in place, while hanging down.

“You’re going to break your neck,” Brendon said pleasantly, flicking at Spencer’s hair. 

“Concerned?” Spencer asked. 

Brendon shrugged, leaning against the tree. “Did I miss anything terribly intriguing at dinner?”

Spencer stared into the ever darkening distance. “Jacqueline is engaged.” The blood rushing to his head as making him feel dizzy and heavy.

Brendon smiled broadly. “Well that’s good news, isn’t it? Heard all about her dear doctor from the girls in the saloon. He seems like the model citizen. Doesn’t sleep around, doesn’t over drink, doesn’t charge for most the services he provides…all around, he seems like a pretty decent fellow.”

“He is good for her,” Spencer said. He brought his hands up and swung himself around, releasing his legs and dropping to the ground lightly. Brendon stood between him and the tree. Spencer’s head was heavy with blood and alcohol.

“Feelin’ alright?” Brendon asked, bringing up a hand to steady Spencer by his elbow.

“Wonderful,” Spencer murmured. He took a step closer to Brendon, then another. Had Brendon always been so much smaller than Spencer? It seemed inconceivable, the way Brendon had tip his head back to look up at Spencer with a questioning expression. 

Spencer closed that last little distance, until their chests were brushing. If he hesitated very long, he knew he would no longer have his drunken courage propelling him. He raised a hand to cup Brendon’s head, and, closing his eyes, bent to kiss him.

For a brief, sweet moment, their lips met. Spencer melted against Brendon, felt the long, solid line of him. Brendon’s lips were soft and his breath smelled like cheap alcohol—whiskey—the scent was intoxicating. 

Spencer tilted his head, moving his lips in soft kisses over Brendon’s. The contact was delicious, unlike anything Spencer had ever known, every brush of skin on skin, every heartbeat amplified by the alcohol Spencer had consumed.

Brendon made a muffled, inscrutable noise, and turned his head to the side. “What the hell are you doing?” He shoved Spencer away with a hand to his chest.

Spencer couldn’t stop the soft moan in the back of his throat and he pressed nearer, his lips inches from Brendon’s throat. He darted out his tongue, tasting the salty flesh. Nothing had ever made him feel so excited as this—none of the stories in the magazines, none of his fantasies. He was painfully hard, and strained to be nearer to Brendon, to find some release.

“Stop it,” Brendon said, his voice hoarse. “Mister Smith…” 

Suddenly, Spencer stopped, pulling back. His heart constricted painfully. He was doing to Brendon exactly what had been done by Ryan to him. He took a few steps back, ashamed, and stared fixedly at the ground, trying to get his breathing under control.

“I’m—I’m sorry,” Spencer managed between gasps. “I wasn’t. It was the wine…I wasn’t thinking.”

The angry frown on Brendon’s face gave way to concern. He took a step forward, reached out hesitantly. “Maybe you just need a good night’s sleep,” he said.

“I’m certain that is it,” Spencer said. Absurdly, he felt as though he might burst into tears at any moment. Of course he hadn’t had any hope of things going as he’d imagined. 

They made their way back to the house in silence, Brendon supporting Spencer with an arm under his elbow, a wide distance between their bodies. The house was still and silent, and Spencer assumed that all the children had been put to bed, and the older girls were probably up discussing the coming wedding in Jacqueline’s room. Brendon helped Spencer up the stairs and saw him to his door.

“Mister Smith,” Brendon said softly, when they’d reached his room, “I’m just going to assume it was the wine, as you said, and I think that’s best for us all. You know that unnatural affection can only get a person into trouble.”

“Of course,” Spencer agreed, holding back with all his strength of the torrent of emotions threatening to spill forth. Brendon nodded decisively and turned away, and Spencer ducked into his room, closing it quickly and sagging against it, letting out a small sob.

On shaking feet, Spencer made his way to the bed, throwing himself upon it and muting his cry in the covers. How could he have been so incredibly hasty and foolish? How good a man Brendon was, to ignore the implications, to go on as if nothing had happened, and even more, to see him safely to bed.

Spencer hated himself bitterly. He hated his stupid body that was still excited. His stupid erection, burning in his trousers. He hated his weakness as he undid the fastenings of his clothing and reached inside. Hated the sounds he couldn’t stop as he quickly found his pleasure. Hated his mind for calling up images of Brendon’s face, the texture of Brendon’s lips, the exact colour of his eyes. Hated every fibre of his being when he came into his own hand, whimpering Brendon’s name, as always.

*

Brendon mentioned nothing of the incident the following day, or the next. Nothing he did was outwardly hostile, and he couldn’t be accused of avoiding Spencer, but the fact remained that in the few minutes they spent near one another each day, Spencer felt very distinctly unfriendly vibes aimed in his direction.

If anyone else noticed the tension between them, they didn’t mention it. Spencer assumed that Jacqueline, Selena, Heather and Silvia were too busy with wedding plans to pay attention to anyone else, and Maria and Aaron were too young to see such a subtle difference. Gabriel did seem to pin Spencer with more unnerving stares than usual, but made no comment.

At the end of the week, Spencer joined Jacqueline in town. She was going crazy with plans for the wedding. Today her purchases would be material for dresses for their sisters to wear in the ceremony. When they arrived in town, she was immediately set upon by a horde of giggling, teenaged girls, who seemed to know her and the details of her impending marriage rather intimately.

Spencer broke off from the others, heading instead to the corner store. “Mister Smith!” Jason Milton called, clapping him on the back. Spencer’s Father and Milton had been drinking buddies, and he’d occasionally come around the house. “Heard about the good news. Fine match for your sister. Oh, your father would be proud.”

“Thank you, sir,” Spencer said. He had to bite his cheek to keep from saying anything unkind of the dead.

“Gonna be rather empty up at that big old house, though,” Milton said. He nudged Spencer in the ribs, as if they were sharing a joke.

“I suppose,” Spencer said. He felt distinctly like he was reading from a script he hadn’t studied.

“First your gran going, then your ma and pa, and now little sister,” Milton said. Like Spencer hadn’t plagued himself with these thoughts for days on end. 

“Yes,” Spencer muttered.

“Probably ‘bout time you got yourself a little lady, huh?” Milton said. “Need someone up there to keep house, look after the little ones, make the meals, so on…”

Spencer knew this was the point where he was supposed to agree again, but his mind was going a million miles a minute. No one actually expected him to marry, now that Jacqueline was. He couldn’t, _couldn’t_ marry. The mere thought left him feeling as though he’d been punched in the gut.

“Now my little niece Megan’s just turned eighteen, and you know, she’s quite the pretty young thing,” Milton said.

“Is that so?” Spencer asked, trying to dive back into the conversation. “Sounds delightful.”

“Perhaps we could set up a meeting…” Milton seemed rather smug about something. Spencer could only feel vaguely sick to his stomach.

“Perhaps we could,” Spencer agreed, looking around for escape. “We’ll talk soon. I really must check up on Jacqueline.” He hurried off, ignoring Milton’s calling his name.

*

It only took Spencer a few days to realise Milton was absolutely right. With Jacqueline going, a woman would be needed to look after the matters of the house. No matter how he looked at it, the other girls simply weren’t mature or experienced enough, and besides, it wouldn’t be fair to ask it of them. It hadn’t been fair to ask Jacqueline. His only option was to marry.

Though morally, it seemed wrong, and though his mind and body screamed in disgust, Spencer had an obligation to his family, and if it meant yet another sacrifice, he must do it with a smile. All he needed do was hint to Jacqueline his predicament, and things took off before the end of the following week.

Jacqueline had a dozen girlfriends in Atwana, and each of them knew at least one eligible girl of Spencer’s age, or were interested in him themselves. For the moment, at least, Jacqueline had set aside thoughts of her own marriage, and began planning for Spencer’s.

“What about Eloise Cutler?” Jacqueline asked over dinner.

“What about her?” Brendon asked. Jacqueline wiggled her fingers at him dismissively, and his frown deepened. Spencer realised he hadn’t mentioned his new objective to Brendon, seeing as they hadn’t spoken to one another in over a week, but for everyday pleasantries.

“A very sturdy girl,” Gabriel said. He sounded solemn, but Spencer was fairly certain that Gabriel was getting some weird satisfaction and amusement out of this all, at Spencer’s expense. There was really no way of proving it.

Selena pulled a face. “Not Eloise. She always smells like cabbage.” She stuck out her tongue. “I hate cabbage. We’d be having cabbage for dinner every evening.” Spencer sighed, and Brendon looked at them all as if they were speaking in a different language.

“Fine then,” Jacqueline said, exasperated. “Not Eloise, though I think she’s a darling. Christine Madison is very charming. And she doesn’t smell like anything.”

“Christine Madison,” Spencer echoed. “Isn’t she the one with one leg shorter than the other?”

Jacqueline’s face coloured brightly. “Spence! That is no reflection on her worth.”

“I didn’t say it was!” Spencer protested quickly.

“She’s a very nice girl. And very talented. She makes the most beautiful clothing. She could dress the entire family very well, and her mother is the best cook for miles, something I’m certain she’s passed on.”

“I just don’t think I…” Spencer trailed off, running his fingers through his hair. He caught Brendon’s still confused expression from the corner of his eye and steeled himself. “What about Miss Greta?”

“Oh?” Heather said. She wore a little knowing smirk. “Miss Greta has a whole bunch of boys after her,” she said. “They have their little sisters bring her letters to school all the time. But none of them are as wealthy and handsome as you, Spence. I bet you could win her over easy.”

“She is rather pretty,” Jacqueline said thoughtfully. 

“And she is very intelligent,” Gabriel said, stroking his chin. “And very fair minded.”

“What on Earth are you all on about?” Brendon demanded.

“Love is in the air,” Selena said with a pointed, dreamy look at Brendon and a great sigh. Brendon’s frown deepened.

Spencer cleared his throat and studied his plate. His heart feeling like a stone in the bottom of his stomach.

"Spence's looking to get himself a bride," Jacqueline said. "Oh, it's so exciting." Spencer shook his head in automatic response.

"That's good," Brendon said. When Spencer’s head snapped up at that, Brendon looked largely uncomfortable. "Just probably do you some good. Having a companion, and all."

Spencer snorted, looking down at his plate again, thinking very uncharitable thoughts toward Brendon. Certainly that would comfort him, to know that Spencer had himself a lover, and wouldn't be throwing himself on Brendon any longer. 

*

The whole family went into town on Sundays. There parents had never been very religious, but the church had been so supportive in the early days following their passing that Jacqueline saw it as her duty to take the children to services. Sometimes Spencer joined them, sometimes he would accompany Brendon and Gabriel to the saloon, other times he liked to stroll through the streets. The town was forever changing, new businesses and homes sprouting up in the empty spaces. 

Today, as the children took off laughing to join their friends in the church yard, Gabriel tugged on Spencer’s sleeve. “Looks like the new library is open now.”

Spencer frowned in that direction. Indeed, the front door was open to the breezy warm morning. “On a Sunday?”

“Talk around the tavern is the owner’s one of those freethinking, atheistic fellows,” Brendon said. “He probably would have been better received somewhere on the coast.”

Ever since word had gone around that a library would be opening in Atwana, Spencer had been waiting impatiently. “Come on, let’s go see.” Brendon and Gabriel exchanged a look, shrugged, and followed as Spencer led the way.

The library took up the first floor of a rather grand house, which had been under construction for a good part of the previous year. When they stepped inside, Spencer couldn’t help but smile at the sight. The floor plan was open and airy, and every wall was lined, floor to ceiling, in shelves packed full of books. 

There was a large, beautifully detailed table in the grand room, covered in open books and littered with papers. Chairs and stools were tucked in corners, and in one of those sat a very well-dressed man, legs crossed at the knees, nose buried in a large tome.

“Excuse me,” Spencer said. 

The man lowered his book slightly. His face was starkly pale against the long fall of dark hair, and his aristocratic features were set in an appraising look. “I hadn’t expected any visitors today,” he said.

“Then why are you open?” Gabriel asked, in that belligerent tone that alternately amused Spencer, or annoyed him.

A single brow arched, full lips pursed. “Because I choose to be,” the man said. He took a bookmark from the small table at his side and closed his book before standing. His legs were impossibly long. Even Spencer, who was considered tall, felt dwarfed by him as he only ever did with Gabriel. 

“And you gentlemen? What brings you to my door rather than God’s?” he asked.

Brendon had an odd, dodgy look about him, and Gabriel’s stance was one of open defiance. Neither of them seemed to have a response to that, either because they couldn’t form one or didn’t care to, Spencer couldn’t say. “I prefer reason and science to religion, myself,” Spencer said in the silence.

The man gave him a smile that Spencer could only describe as devious. “A man after my own heart,” he said. “I’m William Beckett.” He offered a cool, dry hand for Spencer to shake.

“Spencer Smith. And these are my companions, Gabriel Saporta, and Brendon…” Most of the time Spencer forgot he didn’t actually know Brendon’s last name, and whenever he realised it, he was always momentarily unsettled. 

“Just Brendon is fine,” Brendon said. He held out his hand to shake as well. Gabriel only nodded in greeting.

Mister Beckett looked only mildly taken aback by their behaviour, and focussed on Spencer. “Well, Mister Smith—” 

“Spencer, please,” he said.

“And you may call me William. So, Spencer, is there anything I can help you find today, or did you come simply to browse?”

Spencer shook his head, still vaguely awed by the presence of all these books. Certainly it was nothing like the libraries in New York, but beggars couldn't be choosers. He'd missed having a library desperately. “I’ve not had the opportunity to visit a library in years. I’m afraid I have no idea what I’ve missed.”

“Of course I could make a number of suggestions, if you so desire,” William said.

“I’ll let you know.” Spencer wandered away and was aware of the soft murmur of conversation. Gabriel must have asked why William had chosen Atwana for opening his library, rather than a larger city, where he might be better received.

“I’ve lived in large cities,” William was saying. “Chicago, Baltimore, San Francisco. I prefer the quiet of smaller towns. The slower pace. And I hardly care what others think of me.”

Spencer wondered if William sincerely meant what he said, and figured he must, if he’d built his library here and opened on a Sunday. He was a little envious of the man, to be honest. Spencer still cared far too much what others thought of him to be honest about his inner thoughts.

Brendon was at the table, looking over the notes and open books. “This looks like Iroquoian,” he said.

That got William and Gabriel’s attention. “I’ve seen something like this, near Erie,” Gabriel said, leaning in to examine the foreign symbols on the page.

“It’s Laurentian, actually,” William said. “You both have a good eye for the native languages. This particular form of Iroquoian is long dead. I’ve been reading the journals of some of the explorers to the St. Lawrence River, trying to expand on their translations.” 

“That’s quite an undertaking, and one I can’t imagine will be met with much interest,” Gabriel said.

“I don’t do it for recognition,” William said. “I do it because it interests me.”

Spencer made his way into another of the rooms where he could only hear their voices, not their words. He was intrigued to learn more about William’s project, and how Brendon knew what Indian languages looked like, but the draw of the books was greater. By the time the clock tower chimed at noon, he had a stack of books to borrow.

“You should come by the house for dinner one evening,” Spencer said, after he’d finished filling out the form for his subscription and paying the fee. “It’s so refreshing to encounter a like-minded individual.”

William glanced at Gabriel out of the corner of his eye, and smiled. “I’d be quite pleased to dine with you. Let me know when and where.”

Outside the streets were bustling with activity, the members of the community pouring forth from the church. Now that it had been made known that the head of the Smith Orchard and Farm was looking for a wife, advances were made at a startling rate. These days Spencer couldn't go to town without being followed by a gaggle of giggling girls, and most times there were one or two bold enough to approach him and engage him in conversation. 

For the large part, they were simpering idiots, looking for a good marriage. Occasionally Spencer came across one with unnerving intelligence and unerring notion that they _would_ be Spencer's wife. They were even worse, because Spencer worried that if he didn’t stay on guard, he might find himself accidentally wed to one of them.

Today he simply did not feel up to it. He quickly tucked his books away in the carriage and made his way to the saloon, where he could be certain the girls wouldn’t follow. Gabriel, however, lingered at the door of the library, talking to William. Brendon had beat Spencer to the saloon and was already at the bar with a drink in hand and a woman at his shoulder. Spencer refused to care.


	7. Chapter 7

By the second Wednesday of April, Jacqueline had scheduled Spencer’s first family dinner with a potential bride, Blythe Newcomb. Jacqueline dressed him in the newest fashion from New York, an ensemble she'd been working on overtime, setting aside her own wedding preparations and alterations. His hair had been combed and tied back with a blue ribbon. Jacqueline knew it to be Blythe's favourite colour, and besides, she said, it brought out Spencer’s eyes.

"What do you think?" Jacqueline asked of Brendon, as she took Spencer from room to room, showing him off.

Brendon only barely looked up from what he was doing, giving Spencer a cursory glance. "Yeah, nice,” he muttered. Spencer clenched his fists into his sides to keep from saying something he might regret.

Spencer arrived at the Newcomb home just before six in the evening. His stomach was a nervous, seething mass. Jacqueline had presented him with a bouquet of assorted flowers which she assured would convey the proper message. Spencer didn't know how flowers could convey anything, but he was rather sure no message Blythe might receive would be the proper one.

Blythe was a charming young lady of nineteen, with hair darker black than Gabriel’s and startlingly violet eyes. She and her family had come to Washington from San Francisco to expand their business, and they were eager to forge an alliance with a wealthy, well-bred land owner. 

Though Blythe was highly educated and extremely well-mannered, she was also amazingly dull. She sat quite still, hands clasped in her lap, and spoke only when spoken to. Her family buzzed around Spencer like excited bees, asking leading questions. When Spencer finally begged off for the evening, he stepped in the warm night air and let out a deep sigh of relief to be away.

But Blythe was just the beginning. Friday evening Jacqueline dragged him to the Spring Promenade. It was a barely concealed venue for young women to hunt for Mister Right. Jacqueline _knew_ Spencer wasn't a fan of dancing, but that hardly stopped her from throwing him to the wolves. Dance book full—so to speak—feet sore, mind weary, and pockets stuffed with all sorts of favours, Spencer left the Promenade that evening in low spirits with little favourable prospects.

The following week saw him at the home of (despite Selena's protests) Eloise Cutler on Sunday, dining with Sarabeth Gibson on Tuesday, and having tea with Moriene Willis on Wednesday afternoon. 

Eloise did, as Selena reported, smell strongly of stewed cabbage, and besides that, couldn't seem to focus on a single word Spencer said. Sarabeth was largely apathetic about forming any relationship, and indeed her mother, Eileen Gibson, seemed far more interested in forming her very own, special relationship with Spencer. Moriene was prissy and had an overdeveloped sense of self-importance, and five minutes in her presence made Spencer feel like a horribly misbehaved child.

Spencer rode home, dismounting when he reached the end of his drive, preferring to walk the rest of the way. He needed time to gather his wits. He'd felt quite out of sorts all week. He'd never before realised how confounding women could truly be. 

The drive was lined in rose bushes on one side and the apple orchard on the other. The roses had yet to bloom, but Spencer was looking forward to that. He loved the summer most of all the seasons, loved the vibrant colours all around the farm. He breathed deeply the scent of grass and recent rain, and the sweet, overwhelming scent of apple blossoms and felt a little bit better.

Brendon was working near the lane, close to the house, and it was the first time Spencer had been alone with him since the evening he'd embarrassed himself. He looked away from the other man, focussing on the ground in front of him, so he was startled when Brendon called out to him.

"I'm sorry?" Spencer asked, turning to him.

Brendon squinted against the sun, not quite looking at Spencer. "How'd it go today, with the family?"

"Oh." Spencer felt unreasonably disappointed, and stared down at his hands, where he was twisting the reign nervously. He laughed a little. "I don't think Miss Moriene thought very highly of me,” he admitted.

"Well, then she must not be a very good judge of character," Brendon said.

When Spencer chanced a glance, Brendon still wasn't looking at him. "Wh—what?" he asked. If he sounded incredulous, he couldn’t be blamed for it.

"Well," Brendon said. "Just, you're one of the wealthiest families in these parts, you got a pretty solid future, and you're a family man."

"Right,” Spencer said.

"And you're just about the smartest guy around, and you're funny and nice…and…" Brendon trailed off. His cheeks were inexplicably red. Spencer stared at him, but Brendon didn't look his way, and didn't finish what he'd been saying.

"I should probably be getting back to work," Brendon said. He turned away, heading back between the rows of trees.

Spencer watched Brendon go, unsure what had just transpired between them. He headed up the lane, thoughts chasing through his head. When he glanced over his shoulder, Brendon was already lost in the orchard.

Gabriel was in the vineyard close to the house. He’d been moving the soil to aerate the vines, and burning the trimmings. He started at the edge of the vineyard and moved inward toward the house. He was resting on the ground, knees drawn to his chest, dirt smudged over his face and worked into his hands and trousers.

“You look as though you are deep in contemplation,” Gabriel said. He was chewing on one of his weeds, and there was a speculative gleam in his eye when he looked at Spencer.

“I don’t think I’ll be marrying Moriene at the end of summer,” Spencer confided. He released Diamond to graze near by, and settled on the ground beside Gabriel. It was a mild, cloudy day, and Spencer leaned back on his hands and tipped his face towards the sky.

Gabriel gave him a sly look. “A great loss, which I am sure you feel acutely,” he said.

Spencer hummed his agreement. He craned his neck, trying to catch a glimpse of Brendon in the distance. He felt he’d missed something crucial in the conversation and if he could pin down just what that was, it would make sense and his mind would be at ease.

“Perhaps there will be no wedding at all at the end of summer,” Gabriel said. “At least not for you.”

Spencer shot him a sharp look. “What do you mean by that?”

Gabriel just arched a brow, and Spencer knew his vehemence had given him away. He fell back on the grass heavily, closing his eyes. “I’m supposed to see Miss Greta next weekend. I’m certain things will go better there.”

“Oh yes,” Gabriel agreed. “I am certain you and she will have much in common.”

“We will,” Spencer said. He didn’t need to convince anyone of it. Not Gabriel, not himself. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“I’ve finished. We’re caught up on most the chores until May. Brendon’s been working non-stop the past couple weeks, while you’ve been busy wooing the women. He gets up well before dawn, and often times doesn’t come in until the sun has set.”

Spencer cracked an eye open, looking to Gabriel questioningly. He hadn’t noticed this behaviour, but Jacqueline had kept him busy lately. “He doesn’t speak about it much, but I get the impression that he doesn’t think very highly of Moriene. Or Sarabeth. Or Eloise, or Blythe, or Greta.”

“What do you mean?” Spencer asked. His heart stepped up a beat. 

Gabriel didn’t bother elaborating. He pushed himself to his feet and stretched. “I should probably go get cleaned up. Mister Beckett has asked to join me when I visit the Yakima camp tonight.” He brushed his hands off on his pants and made his way toward the house. 

Spencer barely noticed him going, or what he’d said. He couldn’t imagine what problem Brendon might have with any of them women. Why, he’d probably not even met most of them. While he couldn’t say he wanted to marry any of them, he certainly didn’t actively dislike any of them. Well, maybe Moriene, but she seemed to have mastered the art of being rude without actually saying or doing anything outside the bounds of politeness and propriety.

Perhaps…perhaps Brendon himself was interested in the women, and jealous of Spencer. But Spencer had heard about the sort of women with whom Brendon spent his time, and none of his potential brides fit the description. Besides, Brendon certainly didn’t seem to be looking for any sort of commitment, when these women were clearly searching for a husband.

Why else then would Brendon dislike the women? Spencer considered this, but his mind wandered, drifting off to the soft sounds around him, thinking of some of the snappy comebacks he would have liked using on Moriene. Jacqueline would not have been amused if it had gotten back to her.

“You’re gonna get grass stains all over your new suit.” Brendon’s voice sounded near to Spencer’s ear. He jerked awake, unaware he’d been dozing.

“Wha—” Spencer said. His mouth was dry and he swallowed. “I must have fallen asleep.” He sat up, clearing his throat.

Brendon stood up lithely and offered a hand. Spencer looked at it for a long moment. “You coming in? Dinner’s about ready, and if you don’t change out of that first, Jacqueline isn’t going to be too happy about its current state.”

Spencer narrowed his eyes, but took the proffered hand. He knew Brendon was strong, but the ease with which he pulled Spencer to his feet was still surprising. Brendon held fast. Spencer frowned down at their joined hands and pulled a little. Brendon let go at last, his fingers brushing down Spencer’s wrist, over the sensitive skin of his palm. 

“Thank you,” Spencer said. He kept his voice light even as he hurried off towards the house, putting as much distance between them as possible. His heart fluttered all the way to his room, where he began undressing with numb fingers.

What could Brendon possibly mean by it? Though the nerves in his hand were tingling where he’d been touched by Brendon, Spencer wouldn’t allow himself to entertain the notion that it had been Brendon’s intention to excite him. 

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Spencer set aside his suit to be cleaned and dressed in something far more casual from the front of his wardrobe. He ignored his burgeoning arousal. It was a new idea he’d adopted in the past few days, that if he just didn’t indulge himself, he had nothing of which to be ashamed. And perhaps, if he ignored his attraction for Brendon for long enough, it would simply go away.

*

The last weeks of April were an idle time. Soon the vines would begin to blossom, and then there would be the perpetual fear of frost. The vineyard would be alive day and night, in an attempt to keep the vines safe. 

Spencer took to long afternoon rides in the forest to avoid running into Brendon and Jacqueline. The former, because when they met, all Spencer’s words fled him, and he was left uncomfortable and miserable. The latter, because when they met, Jacqueline had a whole new list of girls for Spencer to court, and oodles of suggestions on how to win an excellent bride. 

Even Gabriel was a poor companion. He was gone more often than not, visiting the Yakima or working with William on his translation. When he was around, he kept making vague comments regarding Brendon and his affections. Spencer knew Gabriel couldn’t be encouraging him to pursue Brendon, but Spencer couldn’t help thinking it.

Aaron liked riding, and so Spencer often took the boy along. They would pack a lunch, and Spencer would bring a book, and he would help to teach Aaron to read. The boy was a fast learner, but far more interested in playing than sitting in one place. 

After a while, Spencer would give in and let him run about and he would watch with a warm, content feeling of affection and love. He didn’t think he’d ever have any children of his own, but that was quite alright with him. Helping raise his brother and sisters was enough.

They came home late one afternoon, to clean up before dinner, and found the farm alarmingly still. Aaron ran off to play in the yard and Spencer approached the house from the back. Gabriel and Brendon were sitting on the back steps, the former smoking, and they murmured among themselves.

Something about seeing the two of them together was unnerving to him. “What are you doing out here?” Spencer asked.

“Been banished, haven’t we?” Brendon said. He looked none-too-pleased about it.

Gabriel arched a brow, which was about the only clue anyone might have that he was amused. “Jacqueline has a guest for tea, to discuss wedding preparations, and I believe it was implied that our presence was unwelcome.”

“If, by implied, you mean Miss Jacqueline flat out told us to get our dirty selves outside, then I suppose so,” Brendon said. Normally Brendon sounded fond when Jacqueline got on their cases about dirtying her house, but now his tone was dark.

Spencer gave him a hesitant smile, which Brendon did not return. “I suppose it would probably be safest if I stayed out here, too,” Spencer said. 

As if his words had summoned them, Heather and Selena appeared at the back screen door. “Spence,” they exclaimed together, excitedly. “Where on Earth have you been? Come in, come in!” Selena held open the door and Heather took Spencer by his sleeve, dragging him in the house.

Spencer looked around himself bewildered. Gabriel’s lips were straining against a grin and Brendon’s scowl deepened. Selena swung herself outdoors and sat down to lay her head on Brendon’s shoulder. “I’ll stay out here and keep the boys company,” she said.

“Oh, you’re all sweaty,” Heather said disapprovingly. She tapped a finger against pursed lips, and dabbed at his face with a dish towel. “Now, now…” She fluttered around him like a nervous bird, letting down his hair, tsking, then pulling it back again. 

She brushed her hands down his back and legs, smoothing the lines of his clothing and then stood back. “Guess that will just have to do. Come on.” She put a hand to his back and propelled him into the hall and into the living room.

Jacqueline was having tea with Silvia and Miss Greta, and they were all looking over a magazine full of what looked to be decorating tips. They glanced up when Spencer came stumbling into the room.

“Ladies,” Spencer said. He was all out of sorts. 

Jacqueline didn’t look as though she approved, but a small smile met Greta’s lips. She _was_ very pleasing to the eye. She kept her long blonde curls half back and dressed conservatively, but in flattering cuts. Her posture was impeccable, her features stunningly put together, and most of all, her smile was sincere. 

She stood to greet him. “Mister Smith,” she said. 

Spencer hesitantly came forth, taking her hand and brushing a light kiss over her knuckles. “Miss Greta. I hate to interrupt…”

“Nonsense!” Jacqueline exclaimed. “We’d just decided on the proper lighting for the orchard, I think.”

“It will be absolutely lovely,” Greta said. “Won’t you join us for tea?”

“Well, I—”

“Yes,” Jacqueline said firmly.

“Yes,” Spencer agreed. Irreverently, all he could think about was if Selena was being improper out there with Brendon. He sat in the chair opposite Greta, taking the tea cup that was passed him. 

“Do you know, Mister Smith, I was just remarking the other day on how well educated your younger siblings are,” Greta said. “And your darling Silvia—” here she ran an affectionate hand over Silvia’s hair, and Silvia thrilled to the touch, like a daughter with a mother. “She told me you were to blame for stealing my work from me.”

Spencer coloured, rubbing his ear uncomfortably. “It isn’t so often I see devotion on the parents’ part, but to see it in a sibling…it is very heartening. You’ve got some very bright girls. And a rather bright younger brother, too, if only he’d sit still long enough to let me teach him something.”

“That’s the truth,” Spencer said with a little laugh, glad to find some common ground. “But I’ve come to realise recently that forcing him isn’t doing me the slightest bit of good.” He shrugged. “He seems to pick things up quickly, when they interest him.”

“An interesting point, and one I’ve noticed with other of my students as well.” Greta sighed, twisting her cup in a neat circle. “I only wish I had time to spend on each of them individually, to find what works best for the child.” She smiled again, a bit weaker, but no less honest. “That is why I am so glad that you find that time for _your_ childr…or…” She cleared her throat. “Sorry, your siblings.”

“It’s alright,” Spencer said. “I sometimes begin to make the same mistake.” Greta met his eyes and he could tell she was reassured.

“Jacqueline tells me you’re something of a scholar yourself,” Greta said.

Spencer repressed the urge to glare at his sister. “Ah, she exaggerates. I do enjoy keeping up with certain medical and scientific journals, and I love literature, but I have no formal education, beyond primary level.”

There was something private about the grin Greta gave him. “Do you know,” she said, “one thing I’ve learned in my brief time as school mistress, is that education can only go so far for a weak mind. And for a brilliant mind…why, education is merely a tool for refinement.”

Jacqueline was grinning like a madwoman, and excused herself to get more tea, taking Silvia with her.

“Would…ah…Would you like a tour of the grounds?” Spencer asked.

“That would be lovely,” Greta said. “I have always admired the orchard. The blossoms smell delicious this time of year. Why, I close my eyes and almost imagine I could eat them. Jacqueline’s wedding will be magnificent.”

Greta had a straw hat with a yellow ribbon that somehow made her seem even handsomer. Spencer offered his arm to her in the lawn, leading her toward the nearest rows of trees.

*

“Had a good time, did you?” Brendon asked. It was late, close to time for the children to be in bed. Spencer was reading in the front room, alone from the noise of the games being played in the living room.

“I’m sorry?” Spencer said. Brendon was in the doorway, still in a foul mood.

“With Miss Greta? Did you have an enjoyable afternoon?” Brendon asked.

Spencer sat up more fully, closing his book over his finger, focussing his attention on Brendon. “Well, yes. She’s a very fine woman.” 

Maybe if he seemed entirely interested in this woman, Brendon would no longer be quite so upset with him. Maybe things then could go back to something resembling normal between them. He held up his book. “She even leant me this book. It’s actually rather interesting.”

“Sounds delightful.” His words and his tone were telling two different stories. Before Spencer could further comment, Brendon turned on his heel, all but storming off. 

Spencer sat back in his seat. He was worn out trying to decipher why Brendon said and did the things he did. Rather than dwell on this particular incident, he reopened the book and put Brendon out of mind.

*

Courting Greta wasn’t nearly as difficult as Spencer had expected. At every turn she surprised him pleasantly with new facets of her personality, and new points of view she could bring to almost any topic. 

Spencer came to meet the children after school and Greta would walk him the edge of her the yard while the young ones ran on ahead. Though the time was brief, it gave them a chance to get to know one another better. They often exchanged books at the end of the week, giving them the weekend to enjoy the text.

At the beginning of May, though, Spencer’s time was devoted to the farm. Gabriel, Spencer, Brendon, Jacqueline and Heather took turns every night staying up late. In pairs they would work to maintain the fires in the orchard and vineyard, fanning the flames to generate smoke and heat. 

Additionally, each evening before bed, rows of torches and hanging lanterns had to be lit. It was a tedious sort of business, but necessary to make sure any late frost didn’t harm the future harvest. There were ways to salvage frost damaged vines, but even so, the profit wouldn’t be nearly what Spencer hoped.

On the fifth night of the month, it came time for Brendon and Spencer to work together. Until then, Spencer had managed to work things so they always had other partners. But Gabriel had been up late the previous evening with Heather, and Jacqueline had an appointment for brunch with her fiancé, and so it was left to them.

“Seems like an awful lot of work. Even for a family as big as yours was,” Brendon commented, when the met up in the vineyard on their individual rounds.

Spencer remembered the fuss he’d put up that first year, at every new task set before him. “Oh, I wasn’t at all fond of this to start,” he said. “I suppose you might say I’d been spoiled a bit by my grandfather.”

“You, spoiled?” Brendon asked 

Spencer couldn’t quite tell if he was being teased. He pulled a face at Brendon and continued. “I thought it was an awful lot of work for something that wasn’t a sure bet. My father was fond of gambling, so I suppose this sort of lifestyle appealed to him. The payoff can be great, but so is the risk. I prefer security to excitement.”

“Can’t you have a little bit of both?” Brendon said.

The smoke rose, taking shape briefly before dissipating in the night air. Spencer got distracted watching it for a moment. 

“When I was younger, I had my life all planned out. I was going to be a famous scientist, who travelled the world, inventing cures and amazing machines. I’ll admit, I’ve given up on the scientist thing…but I’d still like to travel the world. Someday.”

“I think you say you’ve given up on the scientist thing, but you haven’t really,” Brendon said.

Spencer turned down the next row, fighting the urge to sigh. “It’s true, there are things I want very much for myself. But I was idealist as a child, and I’ve simply been faced with the truth of reality. It might not be all that I hoped, but it is part of growing up, I suppose. Maybe I can just provide for my siblings those things I myself could not have.”

Brendon gave him a sour look. “Careful,” he said. “You might make yourself a martyr there.”

“I didn’t know you were a master of psychology, Brendon,” Spencer said. He threw a warning glance in the Brendon’s direction.

“Oh, my pa woulda sure liked that, alright,” Brendon said, laughing.

A strangely empty feeling settled in Spencer’s chest. “You drop these little tantalising bits of your history, and then you stop short without giving anything of substance.”

“You think so?” Brendon asked, and now he no longer sounded amused, but angry. “And what’s so important about history, anyway. It’s in the past. Isn’t what matters what’s happening now?”

Brendon started walking faster, overtaking Spencer. “You, that’s basically what you’ve just said, that it doesn’t matter what you wanted in the past, or what you were in the past, ‘cause now you’ve got to be this different person.”

“You’re right,” Spencer said. He felt a little shamed. “No, you’re absolutely right. I’m sorry. I…I was just being selfish and childish.” 

A martyr and a hypocrite, and it was possible that Brendon was very, very right. But Spencer just wanted to know _more_ about him. Anything. How was it that he and Greta had so much in common, and that she was so open and intelligent, and yet Spencer found himself drawn to this man about whom he knew so little?

Brendon slowed down and fell back to walk alongside Spencer. “I didn’t mean to yell,” he muttered.

“It’s alright,” Spencer said, sparing him a smile. “I think I deserved it.”

“No.” Brendon shook his head. “I mean—that is—” Spencer tried to be patient, and seem uninterested and unobtrusive while he waited for what might be said next. 

“Maybe we’re both right. S’just…I didn’t have that good a relationship with my pa, as you’ve guessed, I’m sure. And well…I just don’t like to think about it too much. I like to think that a person is who they are, not where they’re from, and certainly not their parents.”

Spencer nodded fervently. “I agree.” He could not be further from his parents in nearly every way, and he didn’t want anyone to assume they knew him, simply because they knew his father. 

“But I wouldn’t presume to judge you based on anything I knew of them. Anything you might tell me. I just…I’d like to understand where you come from, that’s all.”

“So anyway,” Brendon persisted stubbornly, as if Spencer hadn’t just spoken. “Just ask me something about me, you know.”

A slow, purely pleased smile started on Spencer’s lips, until he felt it in his whole face, his entire body. Brendon had walked on ahead, and Spencer was glad he couldn’t see his silly expression. He got it under control before catching up. 

*

As things in the orchard and vineyard picked up, Spencer rarely had a moment to spare for Greta. He did enjoy the fact that it meant more long evenings with Brendon, however. Spencer knew he shouldn’t have been surprised, given that Brendon had identified himself as a formally educated man, but Brendon was well versed on any number of subjects. Generally he had a very definite opinion, too. 

The more time they spend together, the more Brendon seemed to flirt, which confused Spencer to no end. Brendon had made his rejection clear that first night, and by avoiding Spencer for so long after. But sometimes he said leading things in a teasing tone, with that mischievous sparkle in his eyes, and it set Spencer’s heart beating fasting. 

Still he couldn’t say if he was being mocked, or if Brendon was clueless to what he was doing to Spence. Either way, it both hurt Spencer, and excited him, leaving him in a constant state of confusion.

May bled into June, and the threat of frost became minimal. With warmer weather came the threat of pests and disease. They thinned and tied the shoots, checked the traps daily, and set fresh to keep away the worst of the pests. The barrels in the cellar had to be watched, to keep bacteria way, while they sorted and stacked the older bottles. The vineyard became the main priority, thought the orchard was still in need of care.

June also saw the end of the school year, and that meant finding time for Greta outside of that venue. The first weekend he was invited to supper. Greta lived alone in the schoolhouse. She’d moved from California when her father had passed away, having finished her education and looking for someplace quiet to settle. Dinner was a pleasant affair, and as always, Spencer enjoyed Greta’s company, but he felt some sort of expectation was building between them, and he wasn’t sure he could fulfil it.

“No questions this evening?” Brendon asked, when Spencer came upon him reading in under a tree in the orchard. The days were growing longer, and though it was past seven, there was still plenty light by which to read.

Spencer gave him a dull smile. “A bit tired,” he said. He’d spent the entire evening dancing around Greta’s veiled hints at the progression of their relationship, and the end of the evening dancing around what he now felt was his obligation to show his affection physically. It was exhausting to say the least.

“That exciting an evening, hmm?” Brendon said, laying his book aside.

Spencer wavered, wanting to go inside and wash up, but wanting to stay in Brendon’s company a bit longer, too. Finally, he gave in, setting down beside Brendon, leaning his back to the tree. “To be honest, I’m not sure entirely what Greta expects of this relationship.”

“Well, I should think that’s a bit obvious,” Brendon said. “I mean, you went into this whole thing looking for a wife. I imagine she came into it looking for a husband. Pretty simple equation.”

“You would think that,” Spencer muttered, letting his head rest against the tree. Brendon shifted a little and their shoulders touched, but Brendon didn’t retreat. 

It was amazing, how that inconsequential bit of contact could mess with Spencer’s thought process, making speech something of a difficulty. He sighed, head swimming with possibilities, and the thought of how wonderful it would be to press closer to Brendon. “I suppose it’s about time I made a proposal.”

Brendon shifted again and turned to look at Spencer. There was a frown line between his brows. “You think that’s the best idea?” He sounded incredulous.

“Well…” Spencer felt like squirming under the attention. “It’s like you said. We began seeing each other for the same reasons. She’s expressed her interest and—”

“And she’s what you think is best for you?” Brendon demanded.

Spencer wanted to hit something. Or maybe shout at Brendon. About what an insensitive brute he was, and how it didn’t matter what Spencer thought was best for himself, since Brendon clearly didn’t see things the same way. Instead, Spencer got to unsteady feet. Brendon stood just as quickly, catching Spencer’s elbow in support. 

“She and I have a great deal in common,” Spencer said, and the words, though true, sounded false and rehearsed, as though he was trying to convince himself. “She’s one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met, and she’s interesting, and sincerely enjoys the children and the orchard.” He could have been talking about Brendon just as easily.

“I’m not disputing that she’s just about the best woman you’ll find around here,” Brendon said. He was still holding Spencer’s elbow, and when Spencer gave a tug, his grip tightened. “Are you sure she’s what’s best for _you_?”

“Let go of me!” Spencer said, a bit louder than he’d intended. Brendon dropped his arm as if burnt. “I don’t know who you think you are, to know what is best for me. If you can point me to someone better, by all means, do so. Until then, I would appreciate it if you would stop…stop playing with me!” 

Spencer hurried all the way up the lane to the house and to his room, his vision blurring. He didn’t feel like crying, though his frustration and confusion had reached a boiling point. He wanted to lash out physically, though that had never been his way. 

He lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling, willing his breathing to even out. There had to be something he could to, something to show Brendon and himself he was not some weak being, controlled by impossible, unnatural desires. 

Grandfather had given Spencer a few things, which he treasured. There was the pocket watch Spencer wore daily, and the ring Grandfather had made specifically for Grandmother. He’d had no male children, so he’d passed it on instead to his first male grandchild, when Grandmother had passed. 

It was a beautiful, modest diamond surrounded by a small round pearl on either side. There was a bit of filigree around the setting, much like an opening flower, and a thin band. It would look lovely on Greta’s delicate hand.

Just the idea was enough to make Spencer hate himself, violently, to think of using Greta in such a way. No matter how Brendon infuriated him, Spencer couldn’t do anything so rash. If he made a proposal now, he could not take it back without shaming and hurting Greta, and making a fool of himself. Spencer rolled onto his side, his fingers itching to take action, to fish the ring from its box in his drawer, but he clutched the sheets instead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the long time between chapters. It'll probably be another long stretch -- 5 or 6 days -- I've been pretty sick and it looks like it's going to take a bit of time to recover. Just letting you know it hasn't been abandoned, if you don't see a post for a while.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter crosses into the explicit rating.

Brendon did not show himself at breakfast the next morning, and Gabriel hinted that he’d gone out to work early. Gabriel himself had finished the daily chores by lunch, and went with the entire family into town for the afternoon. Faced with the prospect of running into Greta, Spencer avoided the trip. Faced with the prospect of coming across Brendon in an empty house, Spencer grabbed a book, and Diamond, and went into the woods.

The weather had taken a dramatic turn, going from mild and warm to nearly blistering hot overnight. It hadn’t rained in a few days, but the humidity in the air said that was going to change soon. 

Spencer couldn’t focus on his book. The balmy weather was unbearable. Instead, he ended up dozing on the blanket he’d brought, thankful of the leafy canopy above to keep him from being burnt by the sun.

After a catnap that left him damp with sweat, going into the creek seemed ideal. It opened up at the point where Spencer liked to visit, creating a still, wide pool. The water only came up to mid-chest at the highest point before thinning out again, but it was plenty deep enough for a refreshing dip. He toed off his shoes and socks and set them aside neatly, before stepping gingerly into the water.

The first step was always shockingly cold, no matter how hot the weather. Spencer hopped around a bit, laughing at himself and glad no one could see. He hurried deeper before he could allow fear of the cold to stop him, feet slipping over the smooth, even stones lining the floor. 

When the water reached his waist, he dove under, swimming further in until his lungs couldn’t stand it anymore, and straightening. He tossed his hair back, sending water scattering across the surface and laughing again at how refreshed he felt.

More content than he had been in an age, without Brendon or Greta anywhere in sight or mind, Spencer leaned back, trusting the water to catch and buoy him up. He didn’t know how long he lay like that, dappled sunlight crossing his closed eyes, creating shades of brown and black and red against his lids. 

A sudden, resonating splash jerked him back into awareness. He sank briefly below the surface, getting water in his nose and throat in his surprise. After floundering around wildly for a second, he found his footing and righted himself, heart beating fast.

It was only Brendon. He’d clearly dived headfirst into the water, and came up grinning, hair plastered to his skull. He shook his head, and Spencer turned his head aside to keep from getting water in his face. And also because it appeared that Brendon was shirtless.

“You Americans always bathe fully dressed?” Brendon asked. He sounded amused.

Spencer retreated a bit into the deeper part of the water. He felt inexplicably exposed, though he was fully dressed. The water _had_ made his white shirt practically see-through and his pants cling to his legs. He took a deep breath, his nerves shaky, and sunk down in the water to his neck.

"These woods aren't exclusively mine,” Spencer said. "My land borders Edwards' on the west, and I've given the Yakima hunting privileges on my land. I'd rather not be happened upon in the nude." 

Brendon, clearly, didn't have the same reservations. He swam a bit closer and Spencer caught a tantalising glimpse of his bare legs. "Makes it more exciting, don't you think?" 

"Hmm?" Spencer murmured. He realised he was staring and he tore his gaze away, cheeks burning. "I don't think that particular brand of excitement is for me.” Even dressed, he had the most ridiculous urge to cover himself with his hands.

Brendon straightened up only a few feet from Spencer, and through the clear, slowly moving water, Spencer could see that he wasn't wearing _anything_. At all. Spencer took another step back, very pointedly staring at a spot in the distance. 

"I think I've had enough of a swim for today,” he said weakly, wading backward. "I'm certain the family will be arriving home soon."

Spencer's retreat was halted by a firm hand around his wrist. He turned to face Brendon and was taken aback by the expression on his face, far more intense than he’d ever looked before. Unthinking, Spencer tugged hard to free himself, but Brendon didn’t give. "What are you doing?" Spencer asked. He’d meant it to come out indignant, instead it was embarrassingly breathy and weak.

Brendon didn't answer straight out. He moved closer, his body brushing against Spencer's. Just the bump of his hips against Spencer’s was enough to stop Spencer struggling. They moved together until Spencer couldn't go any further, the high bank to his back. His heart thudded painfully in his chest but he didn't dare hope, wouldn’t allow his mind to even consider the possibility that this could be what he wanted, until Brendon's lips were pressing cool and wet against his.

For a moment, Spencer couldn't move, shocked still, lips frozen. Brendon's mouth moved over his gently, but insistently, sucking at Spencer's lips in entreaty. Shock finally gave way to his desire and Spencer made a small, gasping sound, straining against Brendon's grip to reach out for him. 

Brendon released him easily and Spencer slipped his arms around Brendon's neck. He opened his mouth to Brendon, little shivers of excitement and desire running down his spine, pooling at the base.

Other than the unwanted kiss given him by Ryan, and the brief, stolen kiss with Brendon in the orchard, Spencer hadn't had any experience in this area. He could hardly keep up with the way Brendon’s lips moved fast and hungry over Spencer’s, but he was desperate to learn. To show Brendon he could do as well as all those women in town.

When Brendon's tongue lapped at the crease of his lips, Spencer opened for him. He arched into Brendon, hesitantly moving his tongue against Brendon's, trying to mimic. Brendon's arms went around him, one hand sliding up his back to hold him close, one moving to cup his ass. The touch was startling, sending shivers all through Spencer, making him hard.

Brendon's mouth released Spencer's leaving him panting, and trailed over his cheek and down his jaw. Sharp teeth closed over Spencer's throat, making him gasp, then Brendon's tongue soothed the spot. It made Spencer’s knees go weak. He’d never felt this way, even in his fantasies. Brendon sucked kisses lower, down Spencer’s neck, over his shoulder, Brendon pushing aside his shirt to find more skin. 

Spencer clung to Brendon, his fingers digging into hard muscles. He turned his head, running his fingers through Brendon's hair and brought his mouth gently to Brendon's neck to return the favour. Brendon's skin was cool and tasted sweet on his tongue. He sucked gently and Brendon bucked into him, groaning into his neck.

"You…" Brendon said, breathless, his voice strained. "God, you feel so…"

Spencer's blood was deafening, rushing through his brain. From Brendon's tone of voice it sounded like hew as doing something right, so he sucked a little harder. Brendon tilted his head back, squeezing Spencer's ass, pulling him closer. Spencer became acutely aware of the other man's arousal, pressed into his thigh.

A million questions were running through Spencer’s mind, but he couldn’t pin a single one down, and didn’t want to take away from his task to ask them. So Brendon suddenly wanted to be his lover. He certainly hadn’t seen it coming, but he wasn’t about to argue. Though things were moving rather quickly for a second encounter, until Brendon came to his senses, Spencer would take all that was given to him.

Brendon tugged at the hem of Spencer’s shirt, pulling the sodden cloth from skin. Spencer struggled in his embrace. “You may be an exhibitionist,” he said sharply, more out of fear than actual disapproval, “but I have no desire to be happened upon in the nude.”

“Just makes things more interesting,” Brendon murmured. He gave Spencer a sly smirk that made his stomach flip. Spencer had no idea what he meant by that, but didn’t have time to ask. Brendon kissed him again, his hand releasing Spencer’s shirt and coming to rest on his hip. He slid a leg between Spencer’s nudging his arousal and earning a gasp, and Spencer’s teeth in his lip.

“S…sorry,” Spencer managed between deep breaths, squeezing his eyes shut, trying to concentrate on anything but the almost unbearably pleasurable pressure against his cock.

“S’alright,” Brendon said, and bit Spencer’s lip in repayment. Rather than hurting, the sensation sent a jolt of electric pleasure through him. He was unable to keep from moving against Brendon’s leg, searching for some firmer contact. Brendon encouraged him, hands shifting Spencer into a more comfortable position, and moving his own hips in a delicious counterpoint.

“Oh— _God_ ,” Spencer gasped, moving faster and harder. Brendon’s hands were squeezing him tightly, his lips burning a path down his throat and collar. His erection was insistent against Spencer, and Spencer had an image of himself sinking to his knees before Brendon. Never before had he imagined being the one giving such pleasure, but now it was all he could think of.

“Come on, Spence,” Brendon urged softly. It was the first time he’d ever spoken Spencer’s given name and his voice was so tender. Spencer had never heard it said quite like that, desperate and breathless and thick with emotion. “Come on…”

Spencer moved faster at the words, until his breath was coming in pants and he felt himself hanging at the edge of a great precipice. Everything seemed so distant and inconsequential, his breathing muted, the world around him gone white and fuzzy. But Brendon was hard and real and the centre of his pleasure. 

“Come on,” Brendon murmured again, and kissed him hard. Spencer whimpered into the kiss. All the sensation at once was too much to handle. Spasms ran through his body and he was coming harder than he’d ever thought possible. He was distantly aware of Brendon groaning his name, hips thrusting hard against him and he clung weakly to Brendon to remain standing.

“Oh God,” Spencer whispered.

Brendon was studying his face. “You’re absolutely gorgeous,” he said. “I don’t know how I resisted you this long.”

“Oh God,” Spencer echoed. He looked down at Brendon, yet unable to process what had happened, what was happening, what Brendon was saying.

Brendon smiled softly. “Spencer? This okay?”

Spencer couldn’t find the words to answer. He felt weak and overwhelmed. He pulled Brendon close again, movements jerky and desperate. Brendon wrapped his arms around him tightly and Spencer laid his head on Brendon’s shoulder. 

Brendon was strong and beautiful gold, and bare under Spencer’s hand. He had the strongest urge to run his hands down the smooth skin to take in hand Brendon’s cock and feel it for himself. His fingers twitched against Brendon’s chest. His heartbeat was still faster than normal, and his breath still came too fast, and no matter how he tried, he couldn’t calm himself down.

“Hey, really,” Brendon said, leaning back to look up at Spencer. He looked concerned now, frowning. “Did I…” He shook his head, and Spencer realised the look of disgust on his face was not aimed at him, but at Brendon himself. “I did this all wrong.”

“No!” Spencer said quickly, heart in his throat. “No,” he said again, quieter. He looked at Brendon beseechingly, so mixed up, so lost. “I just don’t— _why_ did you do that?”

“I thought about you going with Miss Greta and,” Brendon said. He squeezed Spencer more tightly, driving all the breath from him. It didn’t matter. He didn’t think he could breathe right now, anyway. “I couldn’t stand the thought that you might ask her to marry you and that I’d never get to be with you like this.”

Spencer wanted to know more. He wanted to hear more, but he knew that really, this was more than he ever could have possibly hoped for. He held on tighter, and just hoped that it would be enough. With a tug on Brendon’s hair, Spencer pulled him into another kiss.

Brendon turned his mouth away to speak, but Spencer couldn’t stop mouthing at the skin of his jaw. “I tried so hard to be good, Spence. You haven’t made it easy on me.”

Spencer drew back, frowning. “You mean you wanted this too? But you, the way you treated me—and you said…” 

“You’ve got a good life here. I didn’t come here to mess that up,” Brendon said. “I shouldn’t—you shouldn’t—”

“It isn’t up for you to decide what’s best for me,” Spencer said. He started to move away, but Brendon’s arms tightened. “This is what I wanted.” 

Brendon shook his head. “I didn’t want to take advantage. You’re so young still, and you’ve been cooped up on this farm. You haven’t had the chance to go out and see the world. Who can say you even really know what you want until you’ve tried it?”

Spencer struggled harder and Brendon made an exasperated noise and released him. “Is that why you sleep with all the girls at the tavern, to try it out? Is that why you did this?”

“Jesus Christ, why do you have to twist everything all around?” Brendon snapped. He took a step back, arms crossed over his chest. It looked a little absurd, him naked in the water, but Spencer was too angry to find it amusing.

“You can’t just go around kissing other men,” Brendon said. “You have to be careful about this sort of thing, especially in a town this small. I do what I need to do so I don’t draw any attention to myself.” 

At the withering look Spencer gave him, Brendon’s expression turned dark. “Don’t go judging me, Mister Smith. You’re lucky it was me you kissed, and not some other man in town. Maybe in Seattle or San Francisco they have a bit more progressive an attitude, but here you’d be lucky to walk away from it.”

“I wouldn’t just kiss some man. I want _you_.” Spencer couldn’t understand how they’d gone from the pleasure of a few moments ago to this argument now. He was angry, and scared they might never get to do it again.

“Well,” Brendon said. He seemed slightly taken aback. “How was I supposed to know? You were all turned around from Ryan’s attentions, then you kissed me when you were stumbling drunk, and a few days later you’re going around searching for a bride.”

“I did it because of you,” Spencer shouted. “You acted like I was something repulsive. I was scared you’d tell someone, or that you’d leave. Everyone expects me to marry, and you didn’t want me, so what else was I supposed to do? And how did you even _know_ that Ryan…about Ryan?”

Brendon smiled at that, lips quirked ruefully. “It was pretty obvious,” he said softly. He took a hesitant step forward and put his hands on Spencer’s hips. Spencer’s body still thrilled to the touch, though he remained upset. “He was territorial and rude. He touched you far more often than was proper.” 

As he spoke, Brendon closed the last distance between their bodies, until they were pressed against one another once more. “And I do want you,” he whispered, tipping his head back and going up on his toes to brush a light kiss over Spencer’s mouth. Spencer reacted without permission of his brain, parting his lips to chase the touch.

Spencer felt himself relaxing, the anger melting away, turning into something else altogether. He ran the palm of his hand down Brendon’s back, trying to pull him even closer, though no room remained between them. Brendon moaned into his mouth, a sound that made the nape of Spencer’s neck tingle, made him kiss harder and faster.

There was a sound in the forest, twigs snapping and a bird taking flight. Spencer jerked away from Brendon, heart pounding, and looked around wildly. There was no one in sight. It had probably only been Diamond, but it reminded Spencer of where they were. For all the same reasons he refused to bathe in the nude, they should not do this here.

“We should get back,” he said, though he was reluctant to fully disentangle himself from Brendon.

Brendon’s fingers squeezed tightly in the fabric of Spencer’s shirt. There was a distracted look about him. His lips were bright red and swollen, and it took all Spencer’s strength not to kiss him again. Then Brendon nodded as if coming awake, and stepped away. 

“I don’t imagine the Yakima would mind all the much if they stumbled upon us, but poor Mister Edwards might fall dead at the sight,” Brendon said, voice light. 

Spencer was still afraid to turn away, to go back to the shore, worried that doing so would mean the end of whatever this was. Maybe Brendon read it in his face, or maybe he was worried of the same thing. He reached out to lace their fingers together and said, “We’ll be more careful in the future. Keep it behind locked doors.”

Spencer smiled wider than he remembered doing in a long time, far before his parents had died. It felt foreign on his face, but he was so bewildered, and happy, and grateful, he couldn’t contain it. 

Brendon smiled back, but there was something wondering about it. He darted close to peck Spencer on the corner of his mouth. “I’m going to have to make you smile like that all the time, Mister Smith,” he said softly. 

Spencer hoped Brendon meant it.

*

"Are you feeling well?" Jacqueline asked, when Spencer sat down to dinner. "You look flushed." Her words only made Spencer blush darker. She put her hand to Spencer's forehead. "Why, you're absolutely clammy!" She exclaimed, looking worried.

"I feel alright,” Spencer protested weakly. He couldn't quite meet her eye, afraid she would look at him and know what had transpired between Brendon and himself.

"Maybe you should lie down," Brendon commented. Spencer frowned in his direction, but Brendon appeared to be paying more attention to his plate of food than to the conversation. His projected air of innocence was confusing, but it wasn’t fooling Spencer.

"I'm _fine_ ,” Spencer insisted more forcefully.

Brendon looked up slowly, a smirk on his lips that made Spencer's stomach flip. The heavy look in his eyes made Spencer's mouth go dry. "No need to push yourself," Brendon said. "You should go lie down. And after you've rested a bit, I can bring you dinner."

Spencer finally caught up. "Oh!" he exclaimed. "Oh, yes. Perhaps you're both right. I do feel a bit light-headed."

"Well, no wonder. Probably spent all day out in the sun. You boys can't take care of yourselves at all. Get up to bed! I'll send Brendon up in a while," Jacqueline said. She was in full mother-hen mode and completely unaware of anything between Spencer and Brendon.

Spencer went to his room, peeling out of his still damp clothing and changing into his nightgown though there was still light on the horizon. The soft, warm cloth felt delicious against his wet cool skin. Downstairs, he could hear the family talking in a dull roar, unable to distinguish Brendon's voices from the others. Spencer was almost sickeningly nervous, pacing his room, unable to stay in one spot for any length of time. 

To distract himself, Spencer brushed his hair until it had dried entirely, falling in soft waves just past his collarbone. He picked up a book, but only managed to read a couple pages. He fussed with his bedcovers, straightening them, then laced and unlaced and laced again the ribbons on his sleeves and neckline.

After what seemed like an age, the sound of scraping chairs rose from the rooms below. Heavy steps were coming up the stairs and Spencer's heart picked up. He crossed the room quickly, diving under the sheets and grabbing the first book off his nightstand, hoping to look occupied and unconcerned.

Brendon opened the door without bothering to knock, and the bold intimacy of the gesture wasn't lost on Spencer. He sat up a bit straighter, lowering his book. Brendon was balancing a tray with a steaming bowl of soup and a cup of milk on one hand and closed the door behind him, locking it. He laid the tray on Spencer's dresser, turning to him again.

Any attempt of being calm was forgotten. Spencer flung himself out of bed and across the room into Brendon's arms. Their mouths met in an open kiss, burning hot. Brendon stumbled them along until the bed met Spencer's legs. Then he was being bent backward, kissed deeper. 

Brendon grabbed his hands, pulling them above his head and holding them in place with one of his own. His free hand roamed down Spencer's body, firm and gentle. "You make me very curious," he murmured between kisses. "You keep yourself all covered up. I can’t help but wonder what's underneath,” he said into Spencer's ear, biting hard on the lobe. Spencer gasped, jerking against the restraining hand.

Brendon's hand slid down his waist, slowly over his hip and thigh, tickled his knee and finally slipped beneath the gown, finding bare skin. The touch was electric. Spencer hadn't known his leg could be so sensitive, but he squirmed under the touch, almost unable to bear it, panting into Brendon's kisses. Brendon slid his hand higher, taking the gown with him.

Up, up he went, baring an ankle, a calf, a knee, a thigh. Spencer had never been so bare in front of another person in his life. His father used to tease him that he was like a girl, unwilling to show the slightest bit of skin. His heart raced, telling himself that Brendon didn’t want to see this. Soon he was going to come to his senses and leave.

Brendon pulled back and grinned at him, then sank the length of Spencer’s body. His breath was hot on the inside of Spencer’s leg. Spencer sat up to see what Brendon was doing. Brendon looked up at him with dark eyes, pressing a wet kiss to Spencer’s knee. 

The touch tickled, but never before had tickling caused Spencer to grow aroused as this did. Brendon’s hands smoothed up the inside of his legs, easing them apart, alternating kisses from side to side up this skin of his thighs, leaving tingling, wet paths. Spencer’s growing erection was starting to tent his nightgown. He had to close his eyes in embarrassment. 

In one swift movement, Brendon stood up, taking the hem of Spencer’s nightgown and pulling it up and over his head, leaving his hair in static disarray. Spencer shivered, though he wasn’t cold. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down at his knees. He knew he was too curvy, too pale, too like a girl in body and face. Brendon couldn’t want this. 

Brendon’s hands came down on his shoulders, the touch light. His fingers skated down Spencer’s arms and took hold of his hands, brought them to his lips. “We both know that other people would think what we’re doing is wrong,” he said. “Let’s not be ashamed of anything we do together.”

Spencer gathered all his courage, pulling his hand from Brendon’s grip. He brought his hands to the laces of Brendon’s shirt, making quick work of it. Brendon helped him discard the shirt. He shucked his own pants, and leaned into Spencer, forcing him onto the bed, crawling over him. And what now?

Brendon rolled them to the centre of the bed, and left Spencer on top. Spencer sat still, startled, hands coming to rest on Brendon’s well-defined chest. Testing, he let his fingers flick over the nipples. Brendon made a surprised, pleased sound. 

Spencer smiled and bent his head to kiss Brendon’s neck, his hair slipping down his shoulders and falling to brush Brendon’s cheek. He sucked at one spot until he’d left a small, red mark, grinning to himself at his handy work, and sank lower. His lips replaced his fingers, nipping lightly at Brendon’s skin. Brendon’s breath went shallow and he laced his fingers into Spencer’s hair.

It was surprisingly easy, Spencer realised, as he progressed. The things he’d read in the magazines helped him on his way. He rolled a nipple with his tongue, bit and suckled until Brendon was making soft groans. Spencer’s fingers searched lower, enjoying the feel of solid muscles quivering under his touch. 

In all the stories, the characters teased for ages, until neither lover could take sensation any longer, but Spencer was too eager for that. He let his hands go between them, steeling his resolve and taking Brendon’s erection in hand.

Brendon sucked in a surprised breath and bucked into Spencer’s touch. Spencer grinned to himself, giddy with his power. He ran fast kisses down Brendon’s stomach, letting his tongue dip playfully into his navel. He was distracted momentarily by the lines running from Brendon’s hips to his groin. He laved attention on them, sucking a biting over pelvic bones while his hand slowly pumped up and down Brendon’s length. 

Then, faced with Brendon’s erection, Spencer hesitated a moment. He was uncut, and it was fascinating. Spencer eased back the skin, Brendon’s precome leaking over his fingertips. Before he had time to consider what he was doing, Spencer bent to lick at it. 

The taste was bitter, but not strictly unpleasant. Brendon’s surprised hiss of pleasure more than made up for it, anyway. Spencer parted his lips wider, swirling his tongue around the head and taking Brendon’s cock deeper in his mouth. Brendon moaned his named and it made Spencer suck harder, almost desperately. He hadn’t been very aware when Brendon had found his completion earlier, and he wanted to be able to enjoy his success now.

“Jesus, Spencer,” Brendon gasped, his voice hoarse. “How did you…where did you learn this?”

Spencer leaned back, pressing the back of his hand to his mouth. “Am I doing it correctly?” he asked. 

Brendon groaned, sitting up and dragging Spencer to him for a deep kiss. “Did I do something wrong?” Spencer asked against Brendon’s mouth.

Brendon laughed and his hand went to Spencer’s erection, smoothing down the length. “You were doing wonderfully. Just doesn’t seem fair that I should get to have all the fun.”

“I was having fun,” Spencer said. He couldn’t fight a playful grin.

“Dear lord, you’re going to kill me,” Brendon said. He tilted his hips and unbalanced Spencer, rolling him onto his back and pinning him with kisses.

They moved together, taking up all of the bed, mouths everywhere, hands grabbing and clinging. It didn’t take long to find a rhythm, gripping one another and jerking hard and fast. Spencer thought briefly that this lacked the finesse of his stories, but it was so deliriously good. His hand curved against Brendon’s neck and he could feel the racing of Brendon’s pulse. He titled his head back, trying to keep his eyes open to watch the expressions crossing Brendon’s face, but the pleasure was becoming almost too much.

Brendon ducked his head to bite Spencer’s neck, low where his shirt would cover it. “Why,” Brendon panted. “Why do you always try to hold on?”

“I…” Spencer tugged at Brendon’s hair and strained up for a kiss. “I…” He couldn’t finish. Brendon squeezed harder, gave a particularly rough jerk of his hand and Spencer was surprised by his orgasm. He cried out softly, the sound swallowed by Brendon’s kiss. He kept his hand moving, desperate now to give Brendon the same pleasure. It was only a moment longer before Brendon came, wet and hot and slick in Spencer’s hand.

For several minutes, they lay together in silence, their breathing slowing, limbs tangled. “I don’t want it to be over,” Spencer said at last, in explanation.

Brendon propped himself up on his elbow. His grin was bright in the growing shadows of the evening. “Give me a few minutes, and we can start all over again,” he promised. The words alone went straight to Spencer’s spent cock and it went half hard with anticipation. 

“Are you going to tell me where you learned what you were doing?” Brendon asked. He flicked a thick fall of Spencer’s hair back from his face, over his shoulder. Spencer skin was sensitive all over; even the soft slide of his own hair made him shiver in aftershocks of pleasure.

Spencer knew, given what had transpired between them, he had no call to be nervous or embarrassed. All the same, he felt a blush creeping up his neck and over his cheeks. Silently, he rolled onto his side, reaching into the bedside drawer. He grabbed a handful of issues of _The Pearl_ , laying them between their bodies.

“What’s this?” Brendon flipped open the top most, which, Spencer could tell by the cover, contained quite a lot of erotica involving inversion. Brendon’s eyes went wide almost at once. “Why Spencer,” he exclaimed, a smiling spreading over his face. “I’m simply appalled. I had no idea you read such cheap, lowbrow trash—”

Spencer made a face. He pulled the magazine from Brendon’s hands and tossed the pile off the side of the bed. “No, really,” Brendon protested. He half-climbed in Spencer’s lap and made a show of leaning over the bed for them. “I think there might be some very interesting ideas in that.”

“If I run out of creativity, I’ll be certain to explore them,” Spencer said, placing a kiss on Brendon’s shoulder. In this position, Spencer could feel Brendon’s arousal stirring against his thigh. Brendon settled back on Spencer’s thighs, grinning wickedly. 

“In the meantime, why don’t you let me finish what I started earlier?” Spencer asked. He couldn’t stop mouthing at Brendon’s neck, tasting the sweat from their lovemaking.

Brendon moved his hips in a slow grind that made Spencer’s eyes roll closed in pleasure. “Only if I might be allowed to return the favour,” he said.


	9. Chapter 9

Spencer had shared a bed briefly with his siblings on different occasions, with Ryan as a child, with Gabriel when necessary. Never before had it been so intimate. When Spencer curled on his side, Brendon pressed up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist to hold him close. Spencer had thought it would be unnerving, having another person so close, the breath stirring the hair on his neck, but he fell asleep quickly, and did not wake throughout the night.

Brendon was still holding onto Spencer when he woke the next morning. It was surprising, given how Gabriel was always saying that Brendon was up earliest of the household. His even breathing seemed to indicate he was still sleeping. 

Spencer rolled onto his back, pleased that Brendon's hand sought him out once he'd settled again. Dim morning light was creeping into the room—it couldn’t have been past six. Spencer brought up his hand, tracing lightly down Brendon's cheek, over his nose and the swell of his lips. Brendon twitched a little and opened his eyes.

"Sorry,” Spencer said. "I didn't mean to wake you."

Brendon kissed Spencer's fingertips, grinning and stretching. "I should have been up by now anyway,” he murmured. 

Spencer relaxed and slipped his hand from Brendon's lips, replacing it with his own mouth. Brendon rolled on top of Spencer, driving the breath from him, but Spencer didn't mind. It was a welcome, warming weight, making him feel safe and grounded.

Slowly the house was waking up around him, light steps down the hall indicating one of the girls up and about. Gabriel's heavy gate went down the stairs and out the front door. With an air of reluctance, Brendon broke the kiss, leaning back. "Should probably do my job,” he said, grinning.

"Mmm…if you insist,” Spencer said. He tried not to pout, failed. It earned him another quick kiss as Brendon climbed out of bed. 

In the early morning light, Brendon's tanned skin stood out in stark relief to the dull surroundings of Spencer’s bedroom. Brendon was impressively muscled all over, and he bent to retrieve his pants, giving Spencer a very nice view of his bare bottom. Spencer wanted nothing more than to run his hands all over that body. They'd never get to work if he started now, though.

Brendon smiled at him over his shoulder as if reading his thoughts, and slipped out of the room, closing the door silently behind him. Spencer lay back on the bed, stretching luxuriously and unable to keep the smile off his face. He rolled to his feet, glad that it was warm in the room. He'd never slept nude before, and was glad he hadn't caught cold.

The day passed in a blur. By the time Spencer had cleaned up, dressed, and got downstairs, Brendon was already gone outdoors. Spencer was delayed in joining him by Jacqueline, who wanted to discuss his progress with Greta, as well as her own wedding plans, and a dozen other things. Very little of what was said sank into Spencer's brain, too busy was he, day dreaming about Brendon. 

In the afternoon, Spencer made a quick lunch and went out in search of Brendon. He found the other man in the orchard, checking the outermost trees for damage and making notes on a clipboard. Spencer came up behind him, setting the basket aside, and wrapped his arms around Brendon’s waist. 

Perhaps he’d been deep in thought, because Brendon started before relaxing into Spencer’s embrace. Never before had Spencer appreciated just how small Brendon was compared to himself. He knew Brendon to be strong and capable, but the way he fit in Spencer’s arms made him feel delicate somehow.

Brendon let out a little laugh. “You should never sneak up on a man like that,” Brendon warned. “No telling how he might react.”

“Oh?” Spencer said, and Brendon turned in his arms, lips quirked to the side. He leaned up for a quick kiss before pulling away altogether.

"You haven't been home all day,” Spencer said. He grabbed up the basket again and went to sit under the nearest tree. 

Brendon arched a brow and dropped down on the grass alongside him. "That's because I was wise enough to escape before your sisters could get into full wedding preparation manner," he said.

"I can't blame them for being excited,” Spencer said. "Though I wish I could.” He rolled his eyes and Brendon nudged him. “If I could escape without feeling guilty, I imagine I'd be worlds happier. But then she gets that dreamy, far away look on her face, and I'm just very, very pleased for her."

"And wish you were in her place," Brendon said, where Spencer left off.

Spencer sat up a bit straighter, making a little sound of protest. Brendon put a finger to Spencer's lips, silencing him. "I don't mean getting married. Not necessarily. I mean getting out of here."

"Oh, haven't we had this conversation a _hundred_ times at least?" Spencer sighed. He drew his legs to his chest, wrapping his arms around them protectively. 

"Suppose,” Brendon said, something eager about his face and tone. “I mean, just speaking hypothetically—suppose you were presented with a way to leave. Suppose someone gave you the means to relocate yourself and the entire family, a way to support you through school…”

Spencer relaxed, laughing. "Am I going to meet my fairy godmother? Is a magical elf going to grant my every wish?" He felt a surge of tenderness and leaned into Brendon. "I already got you,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to Brendon's jaw. “It would be greedy to wish for anything more.”

Brendon put an arm around him, drawing him close. "You do marvellous things for my ego,” he said, and they kissed, so slow and luxurious Spencer thought he could get lost in it. "But really, Spence…" Brendon whispered, lips brushing across Spencer’s cheek. The way he used the pet name still made Spencer's stomach flip in the most delightful way.

"Oh, I don't know,” Spencer said. 

They shifted into a more comfortable position leaning against the tree, tangled together. In the silence, Spencer felt compelled to speak. "You know how I miss New York, but I wouldn't be opposed to someplace near here. William was talking about living in Seattle the other day, and it sounded quite nice. And as you said, they're progressive about…alternative lifestyles. Or San Diego, or San Francisco. It would be nice to be on the coast again."

"Seattle is gorgeous," Brendon agreed. "Reminds me of home." 

Spencer wanted to ask what had brought on these questions, wanted to ask about Ireland. He never knew when one of his questions would be too much. Brendon was biting his lip, looking off through the endless rows of trees.

“Tell me about it?” Spencer asked.

“I spent as much time away from the house as I could,” Brendon said. “Me and Kara would trick Eric and Sean into distracting the tutors and slip out. It made my father furious, which I suppose was part of the appeal.”

“There was a cliff maybe an hour’s walk away. The whole way the grass was covered in these flowers, and Kara would press them in her book.” He gave Spencer a private little smile here. “Your eyes remind me of them, this sort of impossible blue.” Spencer felt his cheeks grow red at the compliment. 

“Kara loved the smell of the ocean and the sound of the waves breaking against the wall. We’d steal something from the kitchen and spend the whole day there—back home, this time of year, it stayed light out ‘til ten or so at night.”

“You didn’t like the smell and sound of the ocean?” Spencer pressed. There was something about Brendon’s voice that made him ache without knowing why.

“I liked to stand on the edge and look down as the waves crashed. They never reached the same height. Sometimes, when the wind was high, it would reach where I stood. And sometimes, I…” Brendon stopped suddenly. 

Spencer was ready to change the subject, but then Brendon started again, in a voice so small, Spencer could scarcely believe it came from him. “I thought of just letting myself fall. Just spreading my arms out and leaning forward until I met the waves, and let them carry me back down.”

There wasn’t a single thing Spencer could think to say to that. He knew what his sister would say, or the people of the town—decent, God-fearing people. Of course he didn’t share their beliefs about mortal sins, but he still couldn’t begin to fathom the desire to end his own life. Finally he said, “I’m glad you didn’t.”

Brendon chuckled and butted his head against Spencer’s chin. Spencer pulled him closer, tucked under his arm. “I didn’t want to die,” Brendon said. “I just. My father’s always had so many expectations of me, and I always knew I’d never live up to them. He came up with the most creative punishments, he’d drag me to confession. I never learned anything from him. There was never any real contrition on my part.

“So I’d stand on that cliff and there was nothing to see on the horizon but blue. If you looked closely enough, you couldn’t even see where the ocean ended and the sky began. _That_ was eternity. I felt like I could just fall into it, be swallowed up, become something else entirely.”

Spencer remembered their trip to Atwana, the ride on the train. Watching the country pass by in a blurred patchwork quilt of coloured land. He’d felt a profound sadness as they’d passed along cliffs in Pennsylvania and far below he could see farms and towns spread out, thousands of people living lives he’d never know. 

For a moment he’d thought of what it could be like, to walk off that cliff and not fall, but find all those distant patches of land tiles upon which he could stand. He’d never said anything to anyone about it, not even Ryan. It was a strange, almost frightening thought, but he’d written it in his journal anyway. The Earth seems so cruel...to put up these obstacles so we may not traverse it. We are too small and it is far too large, when I should be able to step off a cliff, into another person's life.

Spencer wasn’t sure how to put it into words now, how to explain himself, but he thought Brendon would understand even if Spencer himself did not. So he just blurted it out, trying to relate that profound loneliness he’d felt, leaving the only home and friends he’d ever known to travel across the country. Brendon listened in silence, eyes boring into Spencer’s as if he could read more than Spencer was saying.

“I thought the Earth was cruel, then,” Spencer finished, “but now it seems strange, and wonderful. That I came from New York, and you came from Ireland, and yet here we both are. In all that eternity, we somehow found each other. That out of everyone in the world, you answered our advertisement.”

Brendon looked away quickly. “Yes,” he said. “It is quite a twist of fate, isn’t it?”

The day was warm, and rain was threatening on the horizon. Shortly they'd be driven inside, but a pleasant breeze was whipping through the trees. Spencer's mind was giving him all sorts of suggestions on how he and Brendon could spend a rainy day indoors. He was giddy in a way he couldn’t remember being in far too long. “I think it’s finally time fate was kind, after all that’s transpired in recent years,” he said. “Still, I almost feel like I’m dreaming this all.”

Brendon didn't say anything, but he pressed a kiss to the underside of Spencer’s jaw. That was enough of a reassurance, Spencer supposed. Brendon was here, talking about his home, openly showing his affection. Even in his wildest imaginings, Spencer had never thought they could come to this. He was glad to be shown even his imagination was limited.

*

When Spencer woke up in Brendon's arms for the third morning in a row, he finally convinced himself it wasn't just some fantastic dream. He'd been wakened by soft kisses down his neck, a slick tongue down his spine. He squirmed under the touch and Brendon's hand smoothed over his stomach, squeezing his hip and pulling him back to feel Brendon’s arousal. It was a very nice way to wake.

Brendon seemed to enjoy the fact that they had a secret. He smiled when he passed Spencer dishes at the table, winked when the girls went on about potential brides for their brother, like it was a joke only the two of them could understand. Spencer would duck his head, letting his hair veil the curling of his lips.

It was Saturday, and the entire family was going to town, but there was no rush. They were only going for a show in the evening, and the afternoon was free til seven. When they arrived, the children ran off to play with school friends in the park. Jacqueline planned to meet some girlfriends for tea, and then was going to visit James and his mother. Gabriel had decided to skip the trip, and had actually disappeared after his chores on Friday. Spencer assumed he’d gone to see his friends within the Yakima tribe. 

Brendon followed Spencer to the new library rather than going to the saloon as he normally would. “What? I can read," Brendon protested with a knowing grin, when Spencer questioned him.

"Mmm,” Spencer non-answered. 

“Would you prefer I go to the saloon?” Brendon asked. “Enjoy someone else’s company?’

Spencer gave him a sharp look. “I don’t have any control over you,” he said, though he could already feel his anger rising at the mere suggestion and the fact that he didn’t really know what Brendon thought of this relationship. Maybe Brendon never planned on giving up the girls in the saloon. Certainly his father hadn’t, just because he’d married Spencer’s mother.

The library door was unlocked, and the sign read ‘open,’ but William wasn’t anywhere to be seen. There was never a great deal of traffic in the library, and Spencer knew William would often go into the residential part of the home even during business hours. He was unconcerned with what the townspeople might think of his general disregard for normal business practices. 

William would show up eventually, or Spencer could leave a note for him if he found a book to borrow. He moved down the aisle, slightly unnerved by Brendon dogging his every step. “I wouldn’t, anyway, Spence,” Brendon said. 

Spencer tried to play nonchalant, half-pulling a book from the shelf to better read the spine. “Well, that’s certainly up to you,” he said. 

Brendon moved closer behind him, not quite touching, but Spencer could feel the heat of his body. He replaced the book with a snap, moving his fingers down the row. Brendon's breath was hot on his neck. Spencer knew Brendon was trying to get a rise out of him, but he wouldn't give the other man the satisfaction. He moved a bit further down, Brendon shuffling along with him. Lips brushed his ear and Spencer shivered, but didn't comment.

"Well, if you don’t care either way," Brendon began, but they were interrupted when the bell on the door jingled. They both jumped, and Brendon quickly put a few feet between them.

"Mister Smith!" Greta exclaimed. She didn’t seem to have noticed anything wrong. She was smiling a purely pleased smile. "I should have guessed I'd run into you here, eventually,” she said. "Hello Mister Brendon." She nodded to him.

"'Mornin,' Miss Greta," Brendon said. Spencer could detect a hint of icy politeness in his tone. He glanced at Brendon sidelong, noting the sharp set of his smile, the guarded look about his eyes. It was almost frightening sometimes, how Brendon’s moods could change, and how no one else ever seemed to notice that darkness behind the cheerful façade Brendon put on.

Greta certainly didn’t. She looked a bit coy and walked closer to them. "It's been an age since we've seen one another,” she said, her eyes only for Spencer. "I know you've been busy with the orchard, but I must admit I'm very glad to see you here today."

"It is always a pleasure to see you, too,” Spencer told her. He felt like he was carefully treading along the edge of some deep chasm, very aware of Brendon standing next to him.

"Perhaps we could go for a walk?" she suggested. "I'm certain Mister Brendon could spare you for a while. If I can tear you away from the books…"

"Oh…" Spencer said, wondering how to get out of the situation. He looked uncertainly to Brendon, whose face was an impassive wall. Clearly no help was coming from that corner. "Well…of course, Miss Greta,” he said at last. Greta gladly seized his arm.

As they walked out into the already baking hot morning, Spencer cast one last glance over his shoulder towards Brendon, but Brendon’s back was to him. He was already half-way to the saloon. Spencer swallowed hard, trying to focus on what Greta was saying to him.

"I ran into Jacqueline when she was at the printer's," Greta said, like she was telling some big secret. "She told me where I could find you." Spencer nodded, unsure what she meant by saying so.

"Spencer, I really did miss you these past few weeks.” She paused and glanced at him sidelong. He could tell she was searching for something in his face, but Spencer had no idea whether she found it or not. “It was difficult for me to keep from visiting the farm. I think perhaps you are the best friend I have ever had."

Greta's boldness was surprising, but he couldn't say that what she said was exactly unexpected. "You are a very dear friend to me, as well,” Spencer said carefully. It was the truth, all the more reason he didn't want to hurt her.

"Oh, good,” she said, sighing in relief. "I had thought…" She shook her head, her honey curls blinding in the sunlight. "I had convinced myself that you were avoiding me." Though he didn't deny it, Greta laughed a bit. "I know, it was silly of me." She clung a bit more tightly to his arm.

They walked through the streets of town, and Spencer was aware of the looks they were gaining. It had been known he was in the market for a wife. From some of the glares it was clear that the men weren't happy he'd set his sights in Greta, and the women weren't happy that Greta was on his arm. How odd, to think that he was considered to be such an eligible bachelor, when all he wanted was Brendon. 

Greta told him all about the new book she'd been reading, and recommended he borrow it. It did sound intriguing, a murder mystery that went from England to the wilds of Africa and into India. Spencer did love reading about exotic locations, and Greta knew it. But then, so did Brendon. Why did things have to be so confusing? Couldn't Brendon have just made things so much simpler by letting Spencer know if his interest at the start, before Spencer had begun looking for a wife?

"Greta Morgan!" Someone called from behind them. They turned together. Eloise, Moriene and Sarabeth were standing together outside the corner restaurant. 

"Did you forget all about us?" Sarabeth asked.

"Oh! Is it noon already?" Greta asked. A glance at the clock above town square showed it was actually closer to one. "Oh, I lost all track of time!"

"Well, join us now, won't you?" Moriene said. She had a glare aimed at Spencer that he desperately longed to return.

"Oh…" Greta looked at Spencer, clearly torn.

"Go on. I should probably go make sure the children aren't getting into much mischief, anyway,” Spencer said.

Greta smiled at him, squeezing his arm before releasing him. "I'll see you soon?" she said, but Eloise and Sarabeth dragged her into the restaurant before he could respond. With one last dark look, Moriene followed.

Spencer let out a sigh, and turned, looking around the town blankly, unsure of where to go. He passed by the park, where the children were chasing each other around the fountain, screaming and laughing. Heather was doing a good job of minding them along a couple of her friends. 

Really, Spencer wanted to go back to the library for a few books, but the way he’d left Brendon made him uneasy. His feet led him to the saloon and the perpetual evening inside, songs being sung, alcohol flowing copiously. Brendon was seated at one of the tables near the piano, playing cards. One of the girls was standing behind him, arm draped casually over his shoulder in a way that made Spencer’s jaw clench.

Brendon did not look happy, glaring at his cards, lips set in a tight line. Spencer went out to his table and took the extra seat beside him. "I'm out," Brendon muttered, at seeing him. He threw down his hand and tossing a coin on the table. 

The men nodded amiably, as though they knew him well, and scooped up their things, moving to another table. “Bren,” the girl said, moving around to face him, her hand going down his chest. She pouted at him. “Let me take you upstairs and cheer you up.”

Brendon grabbed her wrist and put another few coins in her hand. “I’m really not in the mood,” he told her, with a little push. She closed her fist around the money and scowled at Spencer, as if she somehow new he was to blame for her loss of business.

"Are you very angry with me?" Spencer asked, once she’d gone.

"As you said to me, earlier, it isn't up to me to say what you do and whom you see," Brendon said, but it was clear he didn't mean it.

Spencer struggled to keep his anger and jealousy under control. "What am I supposed to tell her? That I'm sorry, but I've found I'd rather break the law and commit sin with you than settle down with a wife? Somehow I don't imagine that going over very well. And besides, we only went for a walk. That’s the most I've ever done with any woman, which is more than I can say for you! How many women in this room have _you_ slept with?" 

Brendon's eyes narrowed almost dangerously. "I thought you said you didn’t care who I spent my time with. Or were you just trying to hurt me?” Spencer swallowed hard against any response, because he really hadn’t said it to be cruel, but now he could see how it had been.

“I haven't looked at a single one of them today,” Brendon said. "I haven't touched one of them in weeks. You’ve made me—you—” The intensity with which he spoke made his voice waver, and he spoke so low Spencer had to strain to hear him. "And anyway, it's _different._ "

"How?" Spencer demanded, belligerent.

"I didn’t _love_ them," Brendon said.

Spencer opened his mouth, ready to say something back, quick and maybe mean, before the words caught up with him and he closed it again with a snap. All the sudden the room was too loud and hot, and all Spencer could do was stare at Brendon in disbelief.

“Look at you,” Brendon said, not quite nice. “Like you didn’t already know I’m crazy about you.”

“I—” Spencer shook his head dumbly.

Brendon got to his feet suddenly, chair scraping over the floor, and he came to stand behind Spencer. His hands were hot on Spencer’s shoulders, and he leaned in close. "Go upstairs," he said.

"What?" Spencer asked. He looked around himself dazedly, but no one was paying them any attention. Somewhere he’d lost the thread of their conversation, apparently.

"This really isn’t a conversation to be having here. Go upstairs," Brendon repeated. "I'll be there in a minute."

Spencer wanted to question it, but something in Brendon’s tone warned against it. Spencer got to his feet, which felt shaky and useless beneath him, and pushed in his chair. Brendon was cutting his way across the room toward the bar. Spencer went the opposite direction the stairs. On the second floor the music was muted and the doors were all closed, but sounds behind them told him just what sort of activity was taking place.

Brendon came up behind him, seizing his elbow and pushing him down the hall. They came to a stop at the last door and Brendon produced a key, getting them quickly inside and locking the door behind them. 

Spencer turned to face him, ready to apologise for his early remarks, or for going off with Greta. Before he could say anything, Brendon had him pinned against the wall, surging up to against him.

“I’ve been reading those magazines of yours,” Brendon said between hard, messy kisses, breathing uneven. He got his hands between them, undoing the buttons of Spencer’s shirt. After a moments shocked silence, Spencer began to return the favour. He almost couldn’t believe they were going to do this here. It was thrillingly illicit.

“And I thought I knew how it was between two men,” Brendon breathed. He bit hard at Spencer’s neck.

“Yes?” Spencer prompted, when Brendon didn’t continue immediately. His mind ran through the stories he’d read, trying to figure out which one had caught Brendon’s fancy.

“I want to be inside you,” Brendon hissed into his ear. Spencer closed his eyes. “I want to fuck you.”

Brendon gave him a tug towards the bed before he could agree or protest. They sat down together heavily. Spencer’s heart and mind were racing from his suggestion, so overwhelmed by it. There was something erotic and appealing about the way Brendon had taken charge, anyway, how forceful he was. He leaned into Spencer, sucking kisses down Spencer’s throat, along his collarbone.

Before they’d become lovers he never would have entertained the idea. Now, sometimes, it was all Spencer could think about. Certainly the stories made it sound quite pleasurable. But more than that, Spencer wanted to be close to Brendon, in every way conceivable.

Spencer opened his eyes, meeting Brendon’s. Brendon was waiting for his answer. Brendon, who said he loved him. And Spencer…there this desperate ache inside him that had drawn him to Brendon in the first place, that made him long for any little bit of Brendon’s story he shared…there was no name he could find for it other than love. 

Slowly, Spencer pushed himself up to rest against the headboard. He parted his legs, letting his knees fall to opposite sides of the bed, and nodded his agreement. He felt oddly calm, making this decision.

“Lay down,” Brendon said. Spencer did as told, feeling everything very acutely. Brendon’s hands brushed up his ankles, nudging his legs further apart. He’d brought a bottle with him from downstairs—small, brown glass—and he opened it now. It poured into his hand, gathering thickly in his palm. The scent of lemons filled the room almost immediately.

“If it hurts, I’ll stop,” Brendon said. The forceful man that had brought him up here was gone, replaced with Spencer’s gentle lover. It helped to make him relax. 

“I won’t want to stop,” Spencer said. He could barely hear himself over the beat of his heart.

Brendon gave him smile at that, eyes smouldering. His fingers, slick with the liquid, slipped between Spencer’s thighs. Brendon moved slowly, cupping his balls. Spencer’s head fell back on the pillow, his mouth falling open in pleasure, his eyes rolling closed. Brendon’s breath teased over Spencer’s growing erection. His tongue darted out, first light and fleeting, and then his mouth closed around Spencer’s cock. 

The gentle suction made Spencer arch his back and he barely paid any attention as Brendon’s fingers slipped further back, into new territory. The sensation was different, and almost overwhelming in its intensity. He wasn’t sure he’d ever been touched in quite the same place that Brendon’s fingers now found. But they didn’t stop there.

Unhurriedly, almost timidly, Brendon’s oil-slick fingers brushed the entrance to Spencer’s body. Spencer had been silently dreading the touch, but it sent tingles of pleasure up his spine. He cried out and Brendon sucked hard, his fingers circling and flicking the hole, creating all sorts of delicious sensations in Spencer’s body.

A single finger slid in and Spencer tensed almost at once, stopping the progress. Brendon sat back, kissing Spencer’s hip, the soft curve of his stomach, his shoulder. They both knew he had to relax. Spencer knew enough from reading how this worked. He took a deep breath and Brendon pushed a little deeper. It didn’t precisely hurt, but there was a sting, and it was very, very strange.

Brendon showered Spencer in kisses, one hand working his erection, the other preparing him at a leisurely pace. Bit by bit Spencer relaxed into the touch, enjoying it more and more. Before he knew it, Brendon had a second finger inside and Spencer was unable to keep from moving his hips in time with Brendon’s slow thrusts.

Just when Spencer wasn’t sure he could take any more stimulation, Brendon’s hand left his erection and his fingers slipped out of Spencer’s body. He moved over him, spreading the oil over his own cock, his eyes dark with lust. Spencer opened his legs wider, hooking them around Brendon’s hips, welcoming him.

It was a long, hot slide, Brendon’s cock stretching and filling and pushing until he was seated in Spencer. Spencer had to take deep breaths, close his eyes, work himself through it. Brendon’s hands were gentle on his arms, in his hair. His kisses were reassuring. And he began to move, small, smooth thrusts. .

Brendon went slowly, and at first, Spencer was grateful. As his body grew accustomed to the new sensation, however, the discomfort was replaced with a taut pleasure. Then the slow thrusts were torturous. The stretch was so good, Spencer couldn’t believe they’d waited as long as they had to try this.

Spencer’s hands slid down Brendon’s back to cup his ass, pushing Brendon into him harder. The sensation scurried through Spencer’s nerves, perhaps one of the most pleasurable things he’d ever experienced. He flopped back on the bed, panting. This must have been what the books were talking about.

Brendon huffed a laugh at the sound Spencer made, but Spencer knew it was only to cover his own low, desperate groan. Brendon began moving at Spencer’s urging, harder and faster. Spencer rose to meet him as best he could, until they were moving together in tandem. It felt so perfectly right, Spencer couldn’t understand how this was a sin. How else could he have been possibly meant to make love, than with Brendon, just like this?

It didn’t take long until they were both gasping with their efforts, bodies sliding together, slick with sweat. Brendon’s thrusts grew shorter and faster, and every one sent tingles of hot bliss up Spencer’s spine and down to his toes. He reached between them, taking his own erection in hand, pumping half-heartedly—he was almost certain he could come just from what Brendon was doing, but this increased the pleasure.

“God, _I love you_ ,” Brendon said, face buried in Spencer’s neck. Spencer nodded, arms clinging desperately at Brendon’s back. He dipped his chin for a kiss and Brendon’s tongue slicked past his lips, possessing Spencer’s mouth the same way his cock possessed Spencer’s body. The bed was squeaking from their efforts, the headboard banging against the wall. Others would hear this and have no idea what was really taking place here…

Spencer came, whimpering Brendon’s name into the kiss. The pleasure was so intense, he felt like nothing so much as a mass of raw nerves. Brendon continued to move for another long moment, his thrusts sending aftershocks skipping through Spencer’s body. And then, with a wordless cry, he followed Spencer over the edge.

Brendon rolled to Spencer side and pulled him close. Spencer felt pleasantly numb all over, his body not cooperating at all like it should, but he was glowing with happiness, and simply didn’t care.

“I’m sorry I went with Greta today,” Spencer said. Brendon’s grip on him tightened almost painfully, but Spencer continued. “I won’t do it again. It isn’t fair to you, and it isn’t fair to her. When I see her next, I’ll tell her that I’ve decided that my family and my farm have my full devotion, and that I simply cannot consider taking a wife at this time.”

“Spence…I love you,” Brendon said, but his words were too precise, and something about them made Spencer go cold with fear. “I love you so much, I can’t bear the thought of ruining your life.”

“Stop it, please,” Spencer said, half-sitting to look down at Brendon.

“Listen,” Brendon went on, heedless, “she’s a good woman, and she’d make an excellent wife. And she’d sure be terrific with the children.”

“Would you stop it?” Spencer said, putting a hand up between them.

Brendon looked as if he were in pain, and closed his eyes briefly. “I only want what’s best for you,” he said.

Spencer gave Brendon his most impressive glare, the one his mother used to tell him was unsuited to his pretty face. He suddenly wished he wasn’t naked; he felt too vulnerable like this. “You can’t just take me like that,” he said. “We can’t just do that, and you say you don’t want me.” He was furious at himself for the way his voice shook.

“That’s not what I’m saying at all,” Brendon protested, sitting up quickly. 

Spencer met Brendon’s eyes, letting his resolve show. “I love you, too. And I’ve never particularly cared what other’s thought of me. I’ve never planned to live my life how others wanted. I’ve had to give up on a lot of my dreams, as you well know. I’ve sacrificed a lot of my happiness for others. I’m sorry I said those things earlier, about not caring who you spent your time with, because they weren’t true, and I won’t give up you, not if I don’t have to. I won’t marry Greta just because that’s the proper thing to do.”

“Spence,” Brendon said.

“No, now you listen. I don’t know what you must think of me!” He exclaimed. “To give myself like this, only to go on and marry a woman because it’s what’s _proper_? And you say you love me?”

“I do,” Brendon said, and his voice was gaining that hard edge again.

“Then trust me to raise these children, and provide for my family without relying on a wife. And trust me to make the right choice for myself,” Spencer said. “And trust me that now that I’ve got you, I’m not giving you up without a hell of a fight,” he added vehemently. 

Brendon shook his head, but rather than arguing, he kissed Spencer, hard and long until Spencer forgot they’d been fighting at all, until he was laid out flat on the bed, until they were moving together again, Brendon sliding in easily this time. It was sweet and dirty and hard and perfect, and felt something like a promise.

While Brendon went to return the key, Spencer slipped out the back entrance of the hotel, going to meet the family for dinner. He was already running late, and hoped that Jacqueline, in all her excitement, wouldn’t be angry with him. He’d cleaned himself up as best he could in the hotel room, but he still felt as though anyone who looked at him would immediately know what he’d been doing the past few hours.

The salon of the opera house was packed to the bursting, a new show debuting this weekend. Lucking, the Smith family had a table reserved in their name. No one remarked on his lateness, though Selena seemed rather put out.

“Have you seen Brendon at all?” she asked, a moue of disappointed on her lips.

“Um, I’m afraid not,” Spencer lied smoothly.

“No?” Jacqueline asked. She grinned slyly, and for a wild moment, Spencer thought she knew. “I saw Greta in town today. Did she detain you for a while?”

Spencer repressed the urge to sigh in relief. “Actually, yes,” he answered. He was still trying to figure out how he was going to break things off with her, and none of his plans seemed like they would go very well.

“Well, James and I have finalised the date,” Jacqueline said, practically bouncing in excitement. “The twenty-first of August. Then we’re going on honeymoon to Europe. James said he wants to see Italy and England, to know where I come from. And Mother is going to go ahead to Seattle to set up the house.”

Brendon appeared, sliding into the seat between Silvia and Selena. “Am I dreadfully late?” he asked, directing his attention towards Jacqueline.

Jacqueline laughed. “Only if you were hoping to hear about my boring wedding,” she said.

“Always,” Brendon told her with one of his charming smiles.

The evening went by very delightfully. Dinner was delicious and the show itself was a bit light on plot, but masterfully performed. In the intermission, Brendon managed to produce champagne and chocolate strawberries for them all to share. It was some form of torture to watch him devour the fruit. In repayment, Spencer was as suggestive as he dare be with his fingers and the stem of his champagne flute, and from the heavy look in Brendon’s eyes, he knew himself to be successful.

Their bed was full of hushed giggles and messy kisses that night, and Spencer was glad they’d got all the tenseness from the afternoon’s argument out of the way. It was as if some weight between them had lifted. He fell into a contented sleep in Brendon’s arms, a smile refusing to leave his lips.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm entering the home stretch here. If you're following this as I post, I'm sure you've noticed the time between chapters has been getting longer and longer. RL and other WIPs have been demanding my time. So here's an extra-long chapter to hold you over for the next wait. There's one more chapter that's already been written, just needs beta'd, then a couple more that only have vague outlines. I think we're looking at 11-12 chapters, and they should all be up within a month, I hope.


	10. Chapter 10

*

“Spence, I’ve been thinking,” Jacqueline said, when the children had got up from breakfast, and Gabriel and Brendon had gone outdoors. “Now, I know money’s been a bit tight, but from what Mr. Schechter said, it seems like this year is going to go very well. Maybe well enough that you could hire on a few hands for next year.”

Spencer wasn’t entirely sure where she was going with this, but her tone was enough to make him nervous. “Well, of course, if the harvest goes as planned.”

Jacqueline nodded. “It’s just…I really don’t feel right leaving you here with all the young ones. It isn’t fair to you.” Spencer opened his mouth to protest and Jacqueline spoke over him quickly. “It isn’t a matter of trust. You do so well with them. But I’ll miss them too, and besides, it isn’t fair to either one of us to shoulder this burden alone.”

“I’m the oldest,” Spencer said. “This is my duty. You’re getting married, you’re just starting out—you and James will want to start your own family in a few years.”

“I’ve already spoken with James and Mother, and they both agree. I thought perhaps of taking Maria and Silvia. Heather is just as good a cook as me, and she sews even better. She’s got a real way in the orchard that I just don’t. She and Selena have grown so accustomed to farm life, I don’t know if they’d even want to leave. But I thought maybe city life could do Maria and Silvia real good, and Silvia gets on so well with Lydia.”

When he stopped to think about it, Spencer knew she was right. It was foolish of him to think he could raise a whole household of children on his own, even with Brendon and Gabriel. There were some things only a mother could handle, and with Silvia becoming a young lady, and Maria not far behind, it would be important to have a woman around.

“I…I suppose that all makes sense,” Spencer agreed. He couldn’t allow himself to dwell on not only losing Jacqueline, who had been his support after their parents died, but Silvia and Maria, too.

“Seattle really isn’t that far away,” she continued. “James said it’s only four hours by train. You could visit sometimes, and we could all get together for holidays.”

“You’ve certainly thought this through,” Spencer said.

“I’m concerned about you, Spence,” Jacqueline said. She frowned and reached out to brush back hair from his forehead. There was a hesitance in her touch that hadn’t existed a few short months ago, like she no longer knew if this intimacy was permitted. “I saw Greta the other day, and she says you haven’t spoken to her in over a week, since we went to town. Is something the matter?”

Spencer got to his feet, pacing away from the table. “I’m uncertain what to say to her. She seems to have become rather attached to me.”

Jacqueline gave him a surprised, displeased look. “Well, I think she was under the impression that you felt the same way!” she said.

“She’s a very charming woman. Very kind. Intelligent. Beautiful…”

“Then what is the problem?” Jacqueline asked, getting to her feet as well.

“I am afraid that I began seeing Miss Greta because I didn’t see any other, better, option. I thought that I could be satisfied. Now I feel as though it would be cruel to Miss Greta to continue, when I don’t feel the same way she does,” Spencer said. It wasn’t entirely a lie, and as truthful as he could ever be with his sister.

“Oh, Spence. You’re very lucky I love you,” Jacqueline said. She looked weary. “You have to tell Greta at once. She seemed quite upset when we spoke. Oh, how could you have let this go on so long?” She twisted her skirt in her hands.

“I’ll do it at once,” Spencer promised.

“You must do it in person,” Jacqueline said. “It is only fair. You can’t let her keep waiting and worrying.”

Of course she was right about this, as well. He’d been putting it off, dreading the confrontation. Now there was no avoiding it. Jacqueline ushered him off to the stable and watched him from the porch as he made his way down the lane, almost as if she didn’t trust him to go as promised. He ran into Brendon on his way down the lane, reigning Diamond in to stop.

“Where are you going?” Brendon called, jogging over to him.

“I’ll tell you all about it when I get back,” Spencer promised, afraid that if he didn’t go right now, he wouldn’t be able to go through with it. More than anything Spencer wanted to lean in for a kiss, but Gabriel and Selena were close by.

Brendon looked concerned, but he didn’t press any further. “Alright,” he said, and touched Spencer’s arm, quick and light, but still reassuring.

Greta was on the shaded side of the schoolhouse, seated on a blanket and reading. Her hair was plaited, loose tendrils whipping in the wind. Storm clouds were on the horizon, and would probably break before late afternoon.

“Spencer,” Greta said, clearly surprise at seeing him. She sat her book aside, but otherwise remained motionless.

“Miss Greta,” Spencer greeted. He dismounted and walked toward her, but couldn’t sit down.

“You look as though you haven’t got anything good to say to me,” Greta said. She took a deep breath and got to her feet. “I tried telling myself again and again that it was the work on the orchard keeping you. But I see everyone else, even Gabriel and Mister Brendon and Jacqueline all so often.”

“Miss Greta,” Spencer tried.

“No. Don’t. I can tell by the look on your face you’re going to lie to me,” Greta said. Her voice was thick with tears, but she wasn’t crying. “I suppose you think it would make it easier for me, to spare me from the truth. Saying nice, flowery things. But it all amounts to the same thing: you don’t want me.”

“Miss Greta…”

“Please, tell me I’m wrong,” Greta said.

Spencer had never seen a woman like this before, so strong and yet so undone, so very frank about what she was thinking and feeling. His respect for Greta grew and he wished that he could have been different, that he could have loved her, or that he’d never led her to believe that he could in the first place.

“So it’s what I thought,” she said. “Look, I’ve done your job for you,” she added, and laughed a little. “I bet you spent the entire way over here thinking what you might say to me.”

Spencer had never been good dealing with other people’s emotions. He felt torn between reaching out to comfort her and running away. Neither seemed like a very good option. “Please, Miss Greta, don’t—” 

“Don’t what? Show emotion?” Greta said. “That’s fine. I know how uncomfortable it makes you all, to see someone like this. Don’t you think it’s the least I deserve?”

“No,” Spencer said, staring at the ground. “I think you deserve far better. I know you probably don’t believe me, but it’s true. If we were to be married, you’d be miserable all your life. So if making you happy means making you hate me, then fine.”

Greta sneered at him. “You’re such a martyr, aren’t you?” she said.

“I’ve been told,” Spencer told her, without humour. “I am sorry. I think if I were ever meant to be married, it would be to you. But I am afraid I simply don’t have it in me.”

“How terribly noble of you,” Greta said. “You don’t have to lie and say there’s no one else. I know you saw Moriene Willis. She’s perfectly charming, isn’t she?”

“I saw Moriene and a lot of others, before you, but it isn’t any of them,” Spencer said. He wanted to explain, somehow, but Greta didn’t look as though she was interested in hearing what he had to say. “It isn’t any other _girl_ , alright?” He hadn’t meant to stress the word and almost panicked as it came out that way.

For a second, he wasn’t sure Greta had even heard it. But she tilted her head to the side and stared at him for a long moment, eyes narrowed in thought. All the fight seemed to go out of her at once. “You—” she struggled with her words, mouth opening and closing a few times.

Spencer could only wait for her to speak, heart pounding. It wasn’t as though he’d actually confessed anything, but if she understood, and if she wanted to, with a little gossip to her friends, she could ruin him. 

Greta nodded her head, biting her bottom lip, and let out a rueful chuckle. “I suppose I should have known,” she said. 

Spencer thought back on all their discussions, all the books he’d recommended to her, wondered if he’d somehow given himself away through his words and actions. Maybe she didn’t mean what he thought she did?

“You know, I think this conversation has given me enough of an inkling of what married life with you would have been like to know that I’m coming out of this for the better,” Greta said.

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said, because he really didn’t know what else to say to that.

“Just go, please,” she said. “I don’t—I don’t think there’s anything else for us to discuss.” 

Spencer wanted to keep apologising, to somehow make it right, but Greta was clearly finished with him. She grabbed her blanket, and didn’t even look over her shoulder as she headed off. He realised he was still holding onto Diamond’s reigns, grip so tight it hurt when he unclenched his hand.

The entire way home, he replayed the past several months in his head, trying to find a way things could have gone where Greta would never have been hurt. Spencer felt so furiously helpless. He’d made the only choices presented to him, which didn’t really make them choices at all, just as now Jacqueline had made the choice to take Silvia and Maria, to go live the life that Spencer longed for.

“You look like hell,” Brendon said, when Spencer walked in the front door. He was seated in the front room, playing chess with himself. 

Brendon, who was the only choice Spencer had truly made, and if anyone knew, it would all be over. Spencer felt his shoulders slump. “Hey…” Brendon said gently. He stood up and went to Spencer, gestured with his head up the stairs. 

No one was around, but Spencer was suddenly, acutely aware how lucky they were that no one had ever noticed Brendon coming and going from Spencer’s room. His room had somehow become their room, and that was so foolish of them, but Spencer selfishly didn’t want it to change. He sat heavily on the bed, easing out of his jacket and shirt. 

“Jacqueline told me what you were up to,” Brendon said. “Guess it didn’t go so well?”

“You could say that,” Spencer said. Somehow, just being in Brendon’s presence made Spencer smile. He felt a dozen times lighter now, no longer worrying about his obligation to Greta.

“Guess I’m not gettin’ rid of ya now,” Brendon murmured, leaning in, brushing their lips together lightly at first, then with more pressure.

 _Never_ , Spencer thought, desperate, and happy, and terrified that Brendon was making a promise neither of them could hope be kept.

*

When he wasn’t locked up working in his library, or visiting the tribe with Gabriel, William had begun to frequent the orchard. Spencer was glad to have him around, glad for the conversation he provided. William was a very well-read man, and he regularly had new suggestions for books Spencer might enjoy.

There was not so much loneliness in Spencer’s life now, with Brendon. But while he was well educated, he didn’t share Spencer’s unfettered love of reading. Ryan had been there for Spencer once, and what he had left vacant, Greta had filled for a time. Now that she was no longer speaking to him, William filled that same need.

Brendon too enjoyed William’s visits. When the two of them and Gabriel began talking about William’s translation project, Spencer was lost. William had stayed late Friday evening for this very purpose. The four of them and Jacqueline had gone through several bottles of wine, pouring over translations, playing rounds of cards and chess. 

In the end, William passed out on the sofa, and on his way upstairs, Spencer saw the look of tenderness of Gabriel’s face as he laid a blanket over William’s shoulders. Gabriel often pretended he was cool and detached, but Spencer knew he was all soft underneath. He remained puzzled by their relationship. Gabriel had been so adversarial at their first meeting, Spencer wasn’t sure how he and William had gotten to this point, but he was glad Gabriel had found another friend.

The next morning, Spencer rose late. Brendon was already gone from bed. Spencer found him, along with Gabriel and William, lounging in the shade of the orchard. 

“We were talking about going to the reservation,” Brendon said excitedly.

“Brendon is quite good with languages,” William said. “I should have asked for his help in the first place. I need to speak to Sam, to see if he agrees with Brendon’s interpretation of that passage.” He was speaking more to himself than any of them, eyes closed.

“There’s not much else to be done today,” Gabriel said. “Jacqueline mentioned she and the children could go on their own to church tomorrow, if you wanted to come with us. We could stay the night.”

Before Spencer’s parents passed, Spencer had often gone with Gabriel to visit the Yakima reservation in the summer. So far this year he’d not been at all. Gabriel had been taking William in his stead, helping with his project. They would spend whole weekends there, staying in Gabriel’s small cabin.

Even if Spencer hadn’t been enticed by the prospect, the pure excitement on Brendon’s face would have swayed him. They packed up some clothing, and Jacqueline sent them with bottles of wine and some of her preserves as gifts for their neighbours.

The ride to the reservation took over an hour, but the path through the forest was well-travelled by Gabriel, and it was a pleasant trip. Gabriel and Spencer led the way, silently taking in the beauty of the forest and occasionally sharing knowing grins, as Brendon and William followed behind, prattling on about the translation work.

Though it was not a life Spencer could live, he rather admired the Yakima camp. There was a sort of slow, easy feel about the place. It was a sense of true community, unlike that of Atwana, where everyone smiled at your face and whispered behind your back. Spencer didn’t know if that connection was the result of the hardship they’d faced, or the reason they’d survived it.

For the past fifty years or so, they’d been living here, in what had once been their spring campgrounds. The river winding through the forest made an excellent fishing source, and the game was more plentiful in the area. The soil was rich and good for growing.

The clearing leading to the hills in the distance had been carved out for an Army Fort during the war, but was abandoned when the land was granted to the Yakima. Many of the buildings were still used to house their crops, for gathering at meals and meetings, providing shelter for refugees of other tribes. But there remained a great many cabins tucked at the woods edge, and tepees scattered in the clearings.

Brendon drank it all in, asking William in a low tone about the blend of cultures present. They passed through the village, trading pleasantries with those they knew. There was a group of older women in their plain cotton dresses, offset by bright, woven shawls, who spoke to Gabriel teasingly in their own tongue. Whatever they said made William turn his head into his shoulder, and Brendon arch a brow in keen interest. Gabriel just laughed, and waved them off.

Francine, Roda, and George, who were are close to Silvia’s age, came running when they saw Spencer, and were disappointed to find that none of the children had come, though when Spencer gave them the loaf of blueberry bread Jacqueline had sent, they were appeased, and ran off, tossing thank-yous over their shoulders, faces already smeared in blue.

Sam, who was Tlingit, lived in a cabin to the north of the area. In his youth, Sam had travelled most of the summer from camp to camp, trading goods and spreading news and stories, and spent his winters with his people, on the coast in Canada. It was through him that Gabriel had come to know the Yakima people.

The door to his cabin was open, and inside, Sam was talking to another, older gentleman. They both brightened at seeing the new arrivals. Sam gave Spencer a warm hug, after shaking hands with Gabriel and William. “We’ve missed you around here,” he said, an assessing eye taking in Spencer’s features. “We’ve been worried about you.”

Spencer tried to give back a reassuring smile. “It’s been busy,” he said. “But we’re all fine.”

“I hear Miss Jacqueline will be getting herself hitched soon,” Sam said.

“She’s expecting you,” Gabriel said, and Sam nodded.

“We’ll be there.” Then Sam cast a look over Spencer’s shoulder, where Brendon waited in the threshold, looking uncertain. “Are you going to introduce me?” 

William took Brendon by the arm, pulling him more fully into the cabin. “Sam, Edward,” nodding to the other man, with whom Spencer was unfamiliar, “Brendon was going over the translations with us. He’s spent some time studying the languages of the Iroquois people.”

Sam’s eyes lit up, and he started for one of his shelves, overflowing with papers. “Well then, Brendon, welcome.” The table disappeared beneath the notepads, papers, and maps, as the five of them continued the discussion begun the night before. Spencer watched for a while, feeling fond, as Brendon excitedly told Edward and Sam what he’d told William the evening before.

In the end, though, useless in this endeavour, Spencer said good-bye, and wandered back out. Gabriel’s cabin was set apart from the others, further into the woods, closer to the Smith land. Along the way he passed by where Amy, Eli, and Cloud lived with their five children. Always before Spencer had avoided them. 

He didn’t understand the arrangement, that Cloud and Amy were married, but Eli and Cloud were lovers—nor had he ever understood how no one in the village thought anything strange of it. There was talk that other of the men in the tribe had kept company with Eli in their youth. Now, Spencer felt the strongest curiosity, the desire to learn more, but he knew it wasn’t his place.

Instead, Spencer found himself waylaid from his destination by Malcolm and Aaron Blackwater, who somehow had heard of his courtship with Greta, and spent a good half hour moaning at him about how stupid he was for not marrying her. Spencer couldn’t completely disagree with them, so he just let them rant. When they were done scolding him, conversation turned to gossip of the village, and questions about Jacqueline’s husband-to-be, and from there, their own dreams of leaving this behind and going to the big city.

They’d arrived too late for lunch, but in early evening they made their way to the longhouse for dinner. Spencer wasn’t overly surprised to find that his companions weren’t there. Some of the wine he’d brought was passed around the tables, and though Spencer got stuck between some of the older folks who didn’t always speak English so well, it was a nice meal, and he enjoyed getting lost in the flow of the native language around him, only picking out words here and there.

After supper he was sent on his way to Sam’s with food for the others. They were still chatting, though they’d moved from the table to the sitting area, and were drinking coffee with cornbread. They welcomed Spencer and the food he brought with a cheer.

“Sam is amazing,” Brendon said to Spencer, in an undertone, after they’d eaten and the night had fully fallen, and they sat outside while Gabriel and Edward smoked pipes. There was something enthralling about the way the smoke rose from dozens of fires around the village, dissipating into the dark. “He speaks more Indian languages than I knew existed.”

 

“Well, you know more Indian languages than any white man I know,” Spencer said.

“Languages are interesting,” Brendon said. Then he grinned widely. “Besides, it’s something of which my father would not approve, and I heartily believe in doing everything of which my father would not approve.” 

“In the time I’ve known you, I’d say you’ve done quite well,” Spencer said.

Brendon smirked at him. There was a youthful, bald enthusiasm about him right now. Spencer wanted to roll him in the grass, pin him there, drink kisses from him—all out in the open, unafraid of who might see. Instead, he pressed their shoulders together, and Brendon leaned all of his weight into it, gazed up at Spencer through his dark fringe. His eyes were so dark in the evening light.

“Do you know, before I met you, I think everything I did was to spite him. It didn’t feel much like a life. I was more like a lifeless puppet, except instead of doing exactly what my puppeteer wanted, I did the exact opposite.” Spencer didn’t know what to say to that, so he just fumbled across the grass until his hand was on top of Brendon’s, and squeezed. “I feel as though you’ve quickened me, brought me back to life. I didn’t think anyone could ever do it, but you did it so easily. I think you were the only one who ever could. So don't ever think that I love you to spite my father,” Brendon whispered. The urge to kiss him was even stronger when he said things like that. 

Further along the length of the house, William and Gabriel were speaking in hushed voices, and Gabriel stood, extending a hand to help William to his feet. For a second they stood, chest to chest, long legs tangled, faces close enough that in the dark Spencer couldn’t see where one ended and the other began. Quickly they drifted apart, though their hands remained linked.

The realisation hit Spencer, sudden and dull, of just what was between them. All he could do was stare. Brendon followed his gaze and hummed softly. “The ladies were teasing them earlier, about the noises William makes. What a good lover Gabriel must be. I thought it was a joke I didn’t understand.”

“We’re going back to the cabin,” Gabriel said, tipping his head in that direction.

Spencer almost felt like he and Brendon were intruding, though neither Gabriel nor William seemed to mind. They led the way whispering, hands clasped, walking so closely their shoulders and hips brushed with each step. There was nothing unusual about the way they were touching, but now Spencer saw it through a different lens.

Gabriel poured them all glasses of tequila and they sat on wooden chairs around the dormant fireplace. Gabriel’s cabin was a small thing—one room with a stove, a square table, a wash basin, and a wide bed. Spencer couldn’t help looking back and forth between it, Gabriel, and William, wondering how they had happened, and how he had missed it.

And he was jealous of the easy way the two of them had, the teasing from the old ladies. The freedom they had to come here whenever they desired, without fear of what might happen if the people here found out.

William apparently noticed his looking, because he finally said, “You know, Spencer, there are places so unlike Atwana, they might as well be another world. Places where repressive, Puritanical ideas have no sway over people’s minds.”

Spencer chanced a sideways glance at Brendon and Gabriel, who were watching them curiously. “Are the t—two of you…” Spencer couldn’t bring himself to say. If he was wrong, if he’d somehow misunderstood something, he’d just be exposing his own inversion.

William’s eyes were practically sparkling. “Are you and Brendon?” he asked.

Spencer knew he was bright red. William didn’t press the issue. He just put an arm over Spencer’s shoulder, half-hugging him. “I know you might feel like it now, but you won’t live the rest of your life here.”

Brendon and William could say that all they liked, with their unwavering certainty, but Spencer didn’t share their belief. And even if he were to leave, he couldn’t come live on the reservation, or France, or Germany, where he could live openly with Brendon.

William pursed his lips, like he was reading his mind. “You’re so young, Spence. Don’t resign yourself to anything just yet.”

None of them—not Brendon, or William, or Gabriel, or Jacqueline—seemed to understand that his age, as a number, meant nothing any longer. The moment his parents had died, he’d ceased being a nineteen year old. Most days he felt as old and weary as if he’d lived a full forty years, as if all the children could actually be his own.

But Spencer was tired, too, of arguing the point with them. He supposed they would see for themselves as time passed. When Jacqueline left with her husband. When William moved on, perhaps with Gabriel following. When Brendon tired of being in one place for so long. With Spencer watching each of them go, and preparing each of the children to follow. Maybe they were right, some distant day, when all the children were grown and gone, maybe then Spencer could be free.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay. I shouldn't make promises on when chapters will be up, because then real life likes to throw a curve ball.


	11. Chapter 11

July passed by in a blur of wedding preparations, birthday preparations, as most of the children were summer born. There were parties all around. Spencer had never had such a pleasant summer in his life—the farm was doing magnificently, the entire family was happy and content, and life on a farm was not only bearable, but enjoyable, with Brendon around.

Sometimes Spencer wondered how things had progressed so quickly, how he'd fallen so deeply in love. There was so much about Brendon that was still a mystery. It was a contradiction he sometimes had trouble wrapping his mind around, but he tried to make himself stop worrying about it so much. Perhaps Brendon was rubbing off on him, because Spencer had realised he loved Brendon as he was, and he'd come to those emotions by knowing who he was. Anything else from Brendon's past couldn't change that.

By August, the house was buzzing with wedding preparations. Belongings were packed and shipped to Seattle, the house was cleaned and decorated for the party, last minute alterations were made to dresses and suits, and discussions on the food to be served were held.

Brendon, Gabriel and Spencer just kept well away from the house, knowing their presence was unnecessary and probably unwanted. They finished chores as early as possible to avoid the heat of the day, and then spent the afternoons in the forest, in William’s library, or making the occasional trip to the reservation.

The first weekend of August was delightfully lazy, thanks to the rain. Gabriel had gone out early in the morning on Saturday and didn't plan on returning until Monday. Selena, Silvia and Heather were visiting with friends for the afternoon and Jacqueline had taken Maria and Aaron to town to fit them for their wedding attire and search for a birthday present for Silvia while she was otherwise detained. 

Left alone in the house with Brendon, Spencer felt the best course of action was no action at all. They'd stayed late in bed, and eventually when Brendon had gone down to scrounge up food, Spencer had gathered cool water for a bath. After, they’d gone back to bed, making love lazily, and lying together naked afterwards, talking sometimes, but mostly enjoying the calm.

The master bedroom was on the forest side of the house, and mostly shaded, but it still got hot on summer afternoons. Spencer kept the windows open and today a nice breeze fluttered through the curtains. He dreaded the hot, still days of late July and August to come, when he knew the heat would oppressive and there would be little rain or breeze to help.

“I’ll never grow accustomed to your weather here,” Brendon complained.

Spencer pinched his hip. “You complain when it’s cold, you complain when it’s hot. There’s no pleasing you.”

Brendon grabbed at him blindly, feeling down his waist and over his back before getting a handful of Spencer’s ass. “I think you’ll find you can please me plenty, Spence.”

Spencer snorted. He felt loose and relaxed around Brendon as he never had around another person before in his life. “Maybe when it cools down some.”

“So,” Brendon said, slow and drawn out. Spencer cracked open an eye to see Brendon looking at him speculatively, “Silvia’s birthday is on Tuesday, and Heather’s is next week, and I thought I heard Jacqueline say something about Selena’s being the same day as the wedding…”

“All the children have summer birthdays, except Aaron,” Spencer said. “All throughout July and August. Summers have always been one celebration after another. Sometimes with all the guests it seems like one long party.”

“Alright,” Brendon said, “so you’ve got this whole slew of birthdays, but no mention of when yours is.”

"My birthday and Aaron's are on September second. Mother always thought that was a nice bit of symmetry,” Spencer said with a small smile. "I’ll be twenty this year."

"Twenty," Brendon murmured. "You're all just kids, and you get left alone like that…How is it even legal?"

Spencer didn’t want to be annoyed, he was feeling far too lazy at the moment. All the same, Brendon’s comments about his youth always tended to make his hackles rise. “Mr. Schechter worked it so I could be emancipated, so we wouldn’t be separated. Besides, you can’t be much older."

Brendon shook his head. "I didn’t say I was. But I didn’t lose my parents and get left to look after all the children. You’ve just been left here to fend for yourself…"

"They weren’t the best parents when they were here. I loved her, but my mother was a selfish woman, and my father was a cheat. They cared more about themselves and one another, and money, than they cared about us. I might not be that old, but I’ve done my best with this place and the children. At least I’m not going out and putting myself in harm’s way, like my father was."

"Spence…" Brendon said. There was a strange, unreadable expression on his face. “Look, I probably should have said from the start. I didn’t think you’d—that we would--"

Spencer waited, but even after a long pause, Brendon didn’t continue. "Yes?" he prompted. 

Brendon stood suddenly wrapping himself in his robe. Spencer sat up, watching, starting to grow concerned. "What is it?" he asked. He felt silly, lying there naked, and reached for his dressing gown.

"I came here because I knew your father," Brendon said at last. He sat on the chair in the corner and wouldn’t meet Spencer's eye. 

Spencer drew his robe around him more tightly. "Knew him?" he repeated.

"I met your father in Seattle last year. He made a large wager and wasn't able to pay up." Each word made Spencer's muscles grow tenser, but he waited silently for Brendon to finish. "He took off, without leaving an IOU, or anything other than a first name. I was asking around, coming up here to collect."

"How large a bet?" Spencer asked. His voice came out a whisper.

"Look," Brendon said, splaying his hands in entreaty. "That's why I came, but it isn't why I'm here now."

"How large a bet?" Spencer demanded, louder.

"Spence…"

"You’re damn right you should have told me at the first,” Spencer said. “I've been working to pay off father's debts. I could have worked out payment."

"Spencer, I don't want your money," Brendon said.

"Why?" Spencer asked. He felt coldly furious, and he didn’t know if he was angrier with his father, himself, or Brendon at the moment. "Because of what we’ve done? Does that erase his debt? Have I been payment enough?"

"That's not what I meant, and you know, I might start thinking of you as a child if you continue to behave so childishly!" Brendon snapped. Spencer's eyes narrowed and Brendon sighed. "I'm sorry. That's not what meant, either. I'm sorry. You didn't seem to like to me very much to begin with and then…well then I was worried about upsetting you."

“Because I’m so delicate?” Spencer said. “I don’t understand why you simply wouldn’t have told me when you first arrived. Why even pretend to be here to answer our advertisement?”

"The thing is, I was running low on cash, and I was up this way, and I heard the name," Brendon explained. "I had no idea he had kids, and when I saw you all…well, I didn't want to tell you what your pa had done. And then you seemed to honestly need the help. And I only needed the money 'cause I didn't have a place to stay. So it all worked out." Brendon reached out to grab one of Spencer’s hands, and Spencer couldn’t help his automatic reaction, pulling away.

"I’ll have to look into a few things, but I should be able to pay you back what my father owed, in addition to your wages at the end of the year,” Spencer said.

"Spence…" Brendon let out a long sigh, shoulder slumping. "You aren't responsible for your father's bad habits. And I wouldn't feel right taking anything from you, anyway. I'd feel like I was stealing from myself."

“If I can’t pay off my father’s debts, than I’d be no better than he was.”

“I don’t need it, and I don’t want it,” Brendon snapped. In another situation, Spencer might have been taken aback by Brendon’s sudden anger, but right now Spencer was too angry himself. 

“You talk about your pa, and all his bad habits,” Brendon went on. “Well, there are a lot of things you don't know about me and my past. If you knew them, you might not think I was deserving of your money, or your love. This…this wasn’t done from a cruel place, I wasn’t trying to manipulate you. I was trying to do the right thing for once in my fucking miserable life, and I got you out of it, so you can be angry all you like, but I’m done apologising.”

Spencer’s chest was cut with a sharp pain, something he hadn’t felt since he’d lost Crystal and his grandmother. He didn't understand why Brendon wouldn’t just tell him. "Do you think so little of me, of the strength of my love for you, that you can’t say these things that you’ve done?”

“I told you this, and we see how well it’s turned out,” Brendon said.

There was a sneer on Brendon’s face, cruel and derisive, an alien expression for a face usually so kind. Spencer felt himself returning it with his most impressive scowl, the one his mother used to tell him was unsuited to his pretty face. “Maybe you should learn from this: people don’t like having secrets kept from them.”

Brendon threw his hands in the air. “I can’t win either way with you.” He began to dress haphazardly, tugging on his pants, pulling his shirt on inside out. 

Spencer’s heart was beating wildly. This conversation had gotten away from him entirely, and he didn’t know what to say to even try to start to fix it. It wasn’t his fault, anyway, he shouldn’t have to try.

Brendon grabbed his shoes and turned with his hand on the door knob. “I love you, Spence. Whatever else, I hope you can believe that’s true.”

There was a brief moment’s pause, when Spencer could have stopped him. That passed, Spencer’s lips pressed tightly together, and then Brendon was through the door.

A violent internal war was waging between Spencer’s heart, desperate to call Brendon back, to tell him all was forgiven, and his head, coldly telling Spencer that Brendon had proved himself a capable liar time and again, that nothing he said could be trusted.

For a long time, Spencer was rooted to the spot with indecision. He was so very angry, but also terrified. Brendon had brought him so much happiness—happiness Spencer had never hoped to experience. The idea that it had been a lie, and worse, the idea that he might not have it again.

By the time he finally forced himself into action—dressing, tying back his hair, straightening the messed sheets—and headed downstairs, Brendon was nowhere to be found.

Spencer’s mind raced with possibilities. Had Brendon left for good? But a search of his room upstairs put that fear to rest. All of Brendon’s belongings remained. Perhaps he was out on the land, or had gone for a ride. Or, a dark, cruel part of Spencer suggested, perhaps he’s gone to visit one of the girls at the saloon.

It did Spencer no good to dwell on these thoughts. He forced himself to forget the situation entirely, at least for now. More easily said than done. Even with one of his favourite books, Spencer couldn’t concentrate on the words. He found his thoughts wandering, gaze drawn to the rain-splattered windowpane. They were as grey and bleak as the weather outside.

Jacqueline and the children arrived home late in the afternoon, and dinner was a casual affair. No one remarked over Brendon’s absence, and while it wasn’t a usual occurrence, it wasn’t rare, either. Sometimes he and Gabriel worked longer hours than Spencer, or sometimes Brendon just dined separately from them.

After dinner, Spencer distracted himself by seeing to his duties around the house. He read to the younger children, and played with them with their blocks. Normally he took great pleasure in this time with them, but now all he could think about was the fact that Maria would soon be leaving, going away with Jacqueline, and Aaron would be lost without her. His family was being torn apart, and he couldn’t stop it. Maybe Brendon was right, that he was too young for this responsibility.

Spencer bathed Aaron, as usual, dressed him and tucked him into bed. Aaron reached out to play with Spencer’s hair, flipping a thick section back and forth and said, “Why are you so sad, Papa?” 

It had been weeks since Spencer had bothered to correct him. Now, hearing it made Spencer’s eyes sting. He gathered Aaron close, and the feel of the small, warm body in his arms brought him a measure of calm and peace he’d been seeking all day. “I’m sad your sisters have to leave us. I’ll miss them a great deal,” Spencer answered, and it was at least half of the truth.

Aaron nodded, and his voice was somber when he spoke. “I’ll miss them, too. Sometimes I want to tear up Mama’s dress. Then she can’t get married, and they can’t leave.”

“Oh, Aaron,” Spencer said. He drew back from the hug, cupping his brother’s cheek in his hand. “We can’t do that. It would make her terribly sad.”

“I know,” Aaron said, not meeting his gaze. “I don’t want them to go. I don’t want things to be different.”

“Do you…” Spencer had to stop and swallow hard, because the mere suggestion made it feel as though his heart was being torn from his chest. “Would you want to go with them?”

“Why can’t we all go?” Aaron asked.

Spencer sighed one of those sighs that, before Brendon, seemed to have consumed his speech. “I wish we could, but I have to take care of the orchard and the vineyard. Without someone here to tend to them, they would fail, and I wouldn’t be able to take care of you and your sisters.”

Aaron looked thoughtful, biting his lower lip. “Then I want to stay here, and help you, so I can grow up and take care of the sisters, too.”’

Most days, Spencer felt ancient, but sometimes, in moments of fear, or desperation, he felt much younger than his nineteen years. How could he ever live up to the image the children had of him? How could he be a man who Aaron could be proud to grow up to imitate? He didn’t feel worthy of such love and devotion, but he was so profoundly grateful for it.

“You don’t want me to go, too, do you?” Aaron asked, when Spencer was silent too long.

Spencer shook his head vehemently. He leaned in, pressing a kissed Aaron’s forehead, and then his cheek, and his soft, chestnut hair. “No, my darling, I would keep you all, if I could, and you must never tell your sisters, but I'm so glad to keep you, most of all.”

Aaron grinned at him. Tangling their fingers together, he drew a cross over his heart. “I won’t tell them.”

“Good boy,” Spencer said, ruffling his hair.

Upon leaving the room, Spencer ran almost directly into Brendon, and the two of them drew away from one another quickly. Spencer hesitantly met Brendon’s gaze. He didn’t look drunk, or as if he’d laid with another, but he wasn’t wet from the rain, either.

Even after spending all day lost in thought, Spencer still didn’t know what to say. He had too much pride to apologise for his reaction to Brendon’s admission. It wasn’t his fault that Brendon had lied in the first place. 

Then Brendon nodded at him, and brushed by Spencer, going into his room and closing the door behind him. Spencer heard the snick of the lock turning, and that spoke volumes. He retired to his own room early, and spent a long time awake in his bed. Despite the heat, it felt too cool, and too empty without Brendon alongside him.

*

A week passed with this awkward silence between them. Whether it was because of the distraction the wedding provided, or because they were good actors, none of Spencer’s family seemed to notice the tension. 

Gabriel, on the other hand, was all too aware, and he took Spencer aside midweek to ask if all was well. Spencer longed to have someone to talk to about the whole mess, but he couldn’t bring himself to tell Gabriel. It felt too much like admitting to his own failings. That he hadn’t been able to spot Brendon’s deception from the beginning, or perhaps that he’d let the fight go on this long already. So he’d pasted on a smile they both knew was fake, and assured Gabriel all was well. Gabriel was a good enough friend that he left it alone after that.

On Friday, Brendon went with Gabriel and William to the reservation, and Spencer stayed behind. There was no way he could bring himself to spend the entire weekend in Gabriel’s small cabin. The tension would be unbearable, and he shouldn’t inflict that upon the others.

There was plenty for Spencer to do, anyway, without Brendon distracting him. He rode into town to pick up their mail and some deliveries for the wedding. The time alone gave him an opportunity to think. He wondered about the other secrets Brendon might be keeping. Spencer knew Brendon’s heart, and now that he was calm and could view their argument from a distance, he knew that there was no way everything between them could have been false. 

Besides murder or some other violence, Spencer couldn’t imagine a transgression he couldn’t eventually forgive. And Brendon was, despite this lie, a decent man—there was no way he could have taken the life another. Spencer knew that without a doubt.

They would have to have a frank discussion when Brendon returned. There would be no softening of Spencer’s resolve, no sweeping under the carpet the messy tangle of emotions brought about by Brendon’s lies. But Spencer still loved him wholly. He couldn’t give up on this now. Brendon would tell him the entire truth, and they would deal with it together.

Spencer gathered the mail—mostly bills and cards for Jacqueline, responding to the wedding invitations. There were some correspondences from across the border for Gabriel, as was usual, and there was a single letter for Mister Brendon Urie. 

It didn’t have the full address, only his name and the town. The return address was made of one of those fancy stamps like his father and grandfather had, in New York, proclaiming the letter to be from one Mrs. Kara Martin, of New York.

“Some fellow came around, asking after your farm hand. Dressed like he come from a big city, in a fancy suit and hat. He wanted your address, said he’d deliver it himself, but I didn’t like the look of him. Had him leave it here for you,” Elroy, the post master told him.

Spencer, distracted by this new morsel of information about Brendon—a family name, at last—mumbled a thank you, and left. Urie…something about it sounded familiar. Had Brendon mentioned it at some point after all, and Spencer hadn’t realised it? He was almost certain that wasn’t the case.

The rest of the weekend, Spencer was filled with curiosity over the letter. It lay on the desk in the front room, along with Gabriel’s mail, and every time Spencer passed it, his fingers itched to grab it up. Perhaps he could say it had come open in the mail, or find someway of resealing it. They were silly, childish thoughts, and he forced them aside.

But he had so many questions, now! Urie wasn’t an Irish name, of that Spencer was certain. British, or Scottish, perhaps, but not Irish. The name Kara Spencer did remember, as Brendon’s older sister. It was strange that she knew the town where Brendon was living, but not the exact place, or the name of the family for whom he worked. And who was the well-dressed man who had delivered it? One of Brendon’s brothers, all the way from the east coast?

Jacqueline frowned when she saw the envelope, and asked, “Do we know some Uries? Perhaps when we lived in New York? It feels like we must.” So Spencer was not the only one who thought so. Once she’d mentioned it, Spencer was certain that he knew the name from their time in New York.

Brendon arrived home, alone, early Sunday afternoon. Spencer wasn’t surprised that Gabriel and William might stay longer for the chance to be alone. They so infrequently got the chance. Spencer didn’t know how they did it. Not sharing his bed this past week had been so lonely. He’d gotten used to having Brendon by his side every night.

Spencer went out to the stables to meet him. He felt lighter than he had in the past week, glad to have come to a decision about the situation between them. Brendon eyed him cautiously when he stepped into the barn, and dismounted his ride.

“Did you have a good time?” Spencer asked.

Brendon went about unfastening his saddle. “William is making some great progress,” was all he said.

“Good.” Spencer came closer, leaning against the opening of the stall. He admired the way Brendon’s muscles moved under his thin shirt, the strip of sun dark skin above his collar. “I missed you. I’m glad you’re back.”

Brendon glanced at Spencer over his shoulder. There was a trickle of sweat about to run into his eye, and Spencer reached out to wipe it aside. “Thanks,” Brendon said, and drew in a sharp breath when Spencer traced his fingers lower, along his cheek and over the swell of his bottom lip. 

Spencer couldn’t say which of them moved first, surging together, lips meeting in a harsh kiss. They stumbled out of the stall, hitting the wall hard. Brendon’s hands were rough on Spencer’s hips, pawing at his clothing until he found bare skin at Spencer’s waist. He tore his mouth away from Spencer’s to bite along his jaw line, down his throat. Spencer was certain it would leave marks, but found the idea more exciting than anything else.

Brendon groaned, nose pressed to Spencer’s hairline, and he said, “God, I want to fuck you.”

“We have to talk,” Spencer protested. It sounded weak, and even as he spoke, he was pulling Brendon nearer, licking around the shell of his ear.

“Later,” Brendon agreed. “Let me, fuck, I’ve missed you.” He was fumbling with Spencer’s trousers and his own at the same time, and getting no where. Spencer reached to help him with the lacings, and that was answer enough, he supposed.

This was far riskier than anything they’d done before. Here, in broad daylight, where anyone could walk in, and there wasn’t any excuse for why they’d be half naked, no explaining it away.

It was rougher and more painful, without the oil. Brendon wet his fingers in his mouth and worked them inside, and Spencer had to remind himself not to fight it. But it was worth it when Brendon finally slid inside, pinning Spencer against the wall, his chest pressed warm to Spencer’s back. 

Every second that passed, the fear of being caught grew, but it somehow only heightened the pleasure. That, combined with Brendon’s shallow thrusts, his harsh breaths and low grunts exhaled against the skin of Spencer’s shoulder had him on edge within moments. 

When Brendon came, his hips snapping fast and erratic, fingers clawing into Spencer’s hipbones, Spencer felt himself shake apart, coming hard. He clung to the grooves in the stable wall to stay upright, bit his lip against the cries trying to force their way out at the intensity of the pleasure.

Brendon stayed pressed against him as they caught their breath. Now Spencer was aware of how stifling hot it was in the barn, and he was damp with sweat everywhere they touched, yet he didn’t want to move. Brendon kept placing soft, open mouthed kisses across Spencer’s shoulders, at the top of his spine, the nape of his neck. Spencer wanted to luxuriate in the feel of it, of Brendon growing soft inside him.

They cleaned up as best they could, and Brendon finished tending to his horse while Spencer got fresh water for her, and all the others. On the walk to the house, Brendon slung his bag on his shoulder and took Spencer’s hand in his, lacing together their fingers. It was doubtful anyone would notice, or care, but neither of them were ever very demonstrative in public. Spencer couldn’t help but beam, clinging tightly to Brendon’s hand all the way.

“I know it isn’t a good excuse,” Brendon said, as they were walking through the high grass at the edge of the lawn. “But I really thought I was doing what was best, given the situation.”

Spencer nodded thoughtfully. “I know. I understand that now. But Brendon, from now on, you can’t keep things like this from me. I’m not some stranger anymore. I deserve to know.” 

“I wish I could just erase my whole past,” Brendon said, his tone violent. He squeezed Spencer’s hand in anger, but Spencer knew it wasn’t directed at him. “I wish I could have been born into any family but the one I was.”

“You know my parent’s flaws, and you don’t hold them against me. What makes you think I’d hold your parent’s flaws against you?” Spencer asked.

“There’s a big difference between the things your father did, and the ones my father has done. The things I did to try to please him before I realised he’d never be happy with me, no matter what. I—I hate myself when I think about it, and I couldn’t bear it if you hated me, Spence.”

Spencer stopped, clasping their hands against his chest. “I know my reaction probably hasn’t given you much faith in me, but you took me completely by surprise. I’ve had time to think about it now, and I want to know all about you, Brendon. I want you to trust me.”

Brendon wouldn’t quite meet his eye. He gave their hands a little tug, pulling Spencer along. “I’ll tell you, and I won’t blame you if you react the same, or even worse.”’

He wouldn’t press the issue, but Spencer told himself that no matter what Brendon told him, he would have to temper his reaction. He had to give himself time to process whatever it was, before showing Brendon. It was only fair, if he were going to demand to know these things.

As they drew closer to the house, Spencer could see James’ horse grazing near the porch. He realised then, how lucky they’d been that James was apparently only coming for a brief visit. Otherwise he would have brought his horse to the stables, and discovered them. He needed to remember that no matter the situation, he could not let his desire get the best of him.

Inside, most of the family was gathered in front room, where James was presenting Jacqueline with her something borrowed. His mother’s veil, sent from storage in Boston. It was cream lace, with a delicate pattern, and elaborate embroidery that would frame Jacqueline’s face beautifully. It would nicely match the blue of their mother’s wedding gown, and the length was just right for an outdoor ceremony. The girls were all gathered around, gently touching the edges, marvelling at the intricacy.

“You will make a most lovely bride, Miss Jacqueline,” Brendon told her. “All the other girls will stew in jealousy.”

“Oh, Brendon,” she said, blushing, but it was obvious his words pleased her. 

“Brendon!” Silvia’s eyes lit up when she saw him. “A letter came for you.” She scrambled to her feet and grabbed the letter from the pile on the desk. 

Brendon’s eyes narrowed when he saw it, and he immediately dropped Spencer’s hand to grab it with both of his. He tore it open hastily, not bothering with the seal, simply ripping off the side altogether and half-crumpling the letter as he pulled it free. There was a single sheet of paper, written on back and front, and Brendon read it quickly, seemingly unaware of the fact that they were all watching him.

“When—” Brendon stopped and scanned the letter again, flipping it over again and again. “When did this arrive? I. I have to—” He stopped again and hurried out of the room and up the steps.

The children looked after him, worried. Jacqueline gave Spencer an imploring look. He went after Brendon, and found him in his room, shoving clothing into his bag. “Brendon? The letter came on Friday. Elroy said a man in a suit delivered it.”

Brendon’s shoulders slumped, as if every ounce of optimism in him had evaporated all at once. “Spence,” he said, voice quiet. Then he shook his head, straightened up, and began packing again. “I have to go, I have—” he glanced around the room until his gaze fell on the clock ticking on his dresser. “If I leave now, I can make the 4:40 train.”

“R—right now?” Spencer asked, alarmed. “What’s going on?”

“It’s my ma. She’s very ill. I don’t—if this was sent last week, she might already be…” Brendon trailed off. He went to the wardrobe grabbing a pair of nice slacks and fancy shoes Spencer had never seen before.

Spencer didn’t know what to say. Brendon had often spoken of his difficult relationship with his father, but he’d only rarely mentioned his mother. Spencer had simply assumed that they hadn’t gotten along very well, either. The amount to which this news effected Brendon strongly suggested otherwise. “Perhaps it isn’t as bad as all that,” was all he could say, and he knew it was little help.

Brendon nodded. He looked on the verge of tears, or another outburst of anger. “I meant to head back months ago,” he said, tone bitter. “I was never supposed to be gone so long. If I’d gone back in April, as discussed…” He finally stopped then, looked Spencer in the eye. There was a sad smile on his face. “You had to go and be so wonderful. I didn’t want to leave. And now it might be too late.”

“I’m sorry,” Spencer said. His hands were sweaty and sore from how hard he was gripping them.

“I didn’t mean to leave like this,” Brendon said. He slung one bag over his shoulder and grabbed the other in his hand, with his free hand, he took a pouch from the top drawer of his dresser. “I wish I had more time to explain things.”

Before Spencer could respond, Brendon had him backed up against the wall, going up on his toes for a kiss that Spencer helplessly returned. He pulled Brendon closer by the collar of his shirt, bent into him, opened his mouth to Brendon’s questing tongue and tried to lose himself in it. It was too brief, Brendon pulling back after only a few seconds.

“I’ll write you when I can,” Brendon promised, halfway out the door already. “I have to go now if I hope to catch the train.”

James and Jacqueline were waiting at the foot of the stairs, both wearing concerned expressions. They had shooed the children out, at least. “Is everything alright?”

“My mother is sick, she needs me,” Brendon said. “I have to go at once.”

“Of course,” Jacqueline agreed. “Is there anything we can do?”

Brendon made a frustrated noise. “I shouldn’t have unsaddled Abby. I’ve got less than an hour before the train leaves.”

“Take Phoebe,” James said. “She’s fast and she should be rested. Spencer and I can ride the cart into town after you to pick her up.”

Brendon sagged in relief. “Thank you, yes, I will. I wish—” he looked at Jacqueline and then Spencer, something unreadable in his eyes. “I wish I had time to say goodbye to you properly. Tell the children for me.” He took a step towards Spencer, then caught himself up short. “I’ll write you.”

“Please do,” Spencer said. His whole body was straining with the desire to wrap around Brendon, keep him close. To say he’d go, too. Never before had he felt so profoundly helpless in his current situation.

“I’m sorry to miss your wedding,” Brendon said. “I wish you both the best.”

Jacqueline wasn’t bothering to hide her tears. She drew Brendon into a tight, brief hug. “I only hope you can make it home to your mother in time,” she said. 

James shook Brendon’s hand when they parted. “Godspeed.”

“Thank you. And thank you,” he said, to Jacqueline and Spencer, “for welcoming me into your home, and your family. No one’s ever…I’ve never felt so much like I was where I belonged, not even with my own family,” Brendon confessed.

Spencer had to bite his lip against saying what he wanted, ignoring the stinging in his eyes. He wasn’t quite prepared when Brendon almost pounced at him, hugging him so hard it shocked the breath from him. “I love you,” Brendon whispered, face hidden, buried in Spencer’s neck.

“Me, too. I love you, too,” Spencer whispered back, and fought the urge to press a kiss in Brendon’s hair. “Be safe.”

Brendon pulled away, anxiety and reluctance warring their way across his face. He climbed onto Phoebe, and James passed him the reigns. “Just leave her at the stables across from the station.”

Then, just like that, Brendon was gone. Spencer watched until he was out of sight, starting out at a trot until he reached the lane, then picking up speed. He disappeared between the trees in a matter of seconds, and Spencer’s mind hadn’t yet caught up, hadn’t quite processed what was happening, but his body felt weak.

Jacqueline came up to his side and linked her arm through his. “I hope it’s alright,” she said. “We should have given him some of his wages, at least. Something to help him get home.”

Spencer cursed himself for not thinking of it before now. He still didn’t know how much their father had owed Brendon in the first place, not to mention the wages he’d earned working in the vineyard and orchard. “He said he’ll write us. We can send it then.”

“Do you suppose he’ll come back?” James wondered. “You’re already going to be short several hands, come autumn.”

 _Of course he’ll come back_ , Spencer wanted to say, with absolute certainty. But the truth was, he didn’t know at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've changed their age difference just slightly here, to suit the needs of the story. Instead of a few months, I've made it a year and a few months. Also, I just want to say, Victorian weddings were freakin' ridiculous. That is all.


	12. Chapter 12

After dinner, Spencer went up to Brendon’s room. In his haste, Brendon hadn’t packed everything. There were a few books on the bedside table that he'd borrowed from William, along with some loose notes on the translation that Spencer needed to take to the library. In the back of the wardrobe was one of Brendon’s nightshirts, and under his old work boots, a small, worn box.

Spencer took the box and sat on the edge of the bed. He wondered if he should open it, that it might betray Brendon's trust. But Brendon was gone and if he’d forgotten it, it couldn’t have been too important. 

Inside there were dozens of postcards, the topmost from North Carolina. It had a photograph of a glorious plantation mansion framed in painted magnolias. Spencer flipped it over, confused to see Brendon's own hand-writing: _Once Father’s heard of all the wrong I’ve done, put out your lantern. I’ll find my own way back home._

The next he snatched at random had an illustration in the shape of Florida, covered in paintings of the local flora and fauna. As with the first there were only two sentences scrawled across the back, _Caught in this hurricane, I’d confess, but it won't put my mind at ease. I believe that half the time I am a wolf among the sheep, gnawing at the wool over my eyes._

Spencer sifted through them—beautifully detailed drawings, or painted photographs, scenes of local festivals, or sweeping skylines, beautiful women, and grinning children. None of them were addressed to anyone, but on most of them, Brendon had written out bits and pieces of phrases. At first Spencer wondered if they were Brendon's aborted attempts to communicate with his family, but the more Spencer read them, the more they seemed like poetry, or perhaps songs.

There was a card with a painting of the Golden Gate Bridge, rising into the clouds, the date only a few short weeks before Brendon had arrived on the farm. It was quite a bit longer than most of the others, and read, _It’s growing late, and I cannot seem to find my way home tonight. I feel as though I am falling down Alice’s rabbit hole—falling for forever, wonderfully wandering alone. If I should die tonight, may I first just say I’m sorry, for I never felt like anybody. I am a man of many hats although I never mastered anything._

Once Spencer had gotten to know Brendon, even before they’d become lovers, he’d realised his initial assessment of Brendon had been unfair. But even though he’d learned that Brendon was an educated, fairly well-read man, he’d never guessed there was a poet in his soul. This discovery made Spencer simultaneously happy, to have this piece of Brendon left behind, and sad that Brendon hadn’t shared it with him while he was here.

These words made him ache to hold Brendon in his arms, to assure him of his goodness and worthiness. To tell him again and again that Spencer loved him, and Jacqueline, and all the children. That he was part of their family, and it didn’t matter what was in his past. They could be his future.

But it was all too late, now. For whatever reason, Brendon hadn’t felt he could share these beautiful thoughts with Spencer while he was here. Spencer tried to think back on their time together, wondering if there was something he’d said or done to make Brendon feel as though he’d had to hide. After all, hadn’t Spencer asked over, and over again to know more. Maybe it had been to much, had seemed forceful, or insincere.

Spencer took the box with him back to his room. He read them again and again, late into the night. Some were clearly written a long time ago, the words smudged, nearly illegible. The older ones were by far the most difficult to read. It was clear that Brendon had been in a dreadful place. 

From what Spencer had managed to get Brendon to tell him, and from the words written here, Spencer knew Brendon had left home of his own volition. There was an intense loneliness in his poetry, however, that suggested he hadn’t really wanted to go. Spencer never would have guessed, from the jovial, friendly air Brendon had about him, from the very moment he’d arrived, that inside he was plagued with such darkness.

As he travelled he made his way throughout the United States, sometimes crossing into Mexico or Canada. Spencer liked those cards in particular, their vivid paintings of locals in costume or photographs of dirt streets lined in vendor carts. Niagra Falls captured in amazing detail. Expansive beaches with golden sand and bright blue water, girls frolicking in their bathing suits, chased by the boys. 

Despite everything, Spencer found himself envious of Brendon and his travels. He’d been places Spencer had only read about, seen things Spencer could only dream of seeing. Once again Spencer felt crushed under the wave of helplessness he felt whenever he was reminded that his life was not his own, that he never would visit those places. He pushed those thoughts aside viciously, and turned his attention back to the cards.

There was one from Atwana, an etching of the main street with the church at the end. Spencer vaguely recalled seeing Brendon buy it a few weeks ago on a trip to town, probably the most recent of all. 

_Summer's on its deathbed, and there is simply nothing worse than knowing how it ends. I meant everything I said that night: I will come back to life…but only for you. Sleeping in the hive, all that buzzing weakened me. Still, I am alive, and at night your body is a symphony that I'm conducting, and at the bottom, in fresher ink, I only hope it’s true that every little thing I do for love redeems me of the moments I deem worthy of the worst things that I’ve done._

Spencer’s fingers itched to find a pen and paper, to write Brendon. Whatever these things were that haunted him now, Spencer didn’t need to know any longer. He knew the man Brendon was, now, and that was all that mattered. Brendon had been trying to tell him that for months, and Spencer had kept pushing, hadn’t understood.

Even if Spencer had any clue where to send the letter, the idea of putting these thoughts down on paper, where anyone could read them, was unsettling to say the least. So for now it would wait. Spencer would wait, until he received the letter Brendon had promised.

*

It was a good thing that the farm was bustling with activity, which served to distract Spencer from thinking too much on Brendon’s absence. Besides the preparation for the wedding, there were still the regular tasks around the farm. Without Brendon’s help, and with the older girls distracted by the wedding, they were in dire need of an extra hand.

William came to their rescue, recommending a friend of his from Chicago. Jonathan Walker was good with his hands and had worked many harvests across the country. He had been working on a buffalo ranch in Idaho and was looking for a change. According to William, he never stayed in one place for very long. That worked out well enough for Spencer. Walker could fill the current void, and once the harvest was over, he could look into finding a more permanent worker.

Walker was an easy-going man, with a rather lazy air about him, but he pulled his weight in the orchard. After Brendon, who’d been something of a challenge for Spencer to get to know and accept, Walker was a nice change of pace. He did his job, he kept up pleasant conversation, and otherwise he kept to himself.

In the mornings, while the men were in the field, Jacqueline was writing thank you cards and finishing up last minute details. After, she, Heather, and Selena would arrange the gifts on tables covered in damask, set up especially for the display. They’d shuffled around the bedrooms to accommodate the gifts and the guests who would shortly arrive to stay with them. Aaron was moved in with the younger girls, and Jacqueline in with the younger girls. Gabriel rarely spent the night at the farm anyway, and recently he’d been sleeping almost every night at William’s home, or his cabin.

Spencer had no reason to protest when Jacqueline decided to use Brendon’s empty room for showcasing the gifts. Yet seeing the bed dismantled and put into storage and the room filled with all the silverware, china, and linens, the books, and cut crystal vases…it only brought home Brendon’s absence all the more.

The week leading up to the wedding, Aunt Marabella arrived with her children, Calynda and Vespasiano. If it had been entirely up to Spencer, he wouldn’t have invited them to stay at their home. He remembered all too clearly her refusal to take in any of the children when his parents passed away. She hadn’t been there for them in their time of mourning; she didn’t deserve to be present during their time of celebration.

Jacqueline’s calmer and more practical mine won out. Housing them would eliminate the cost of putting them up at the hotel. In the end, Spencer conceded, though once she and his cousins had arrived, he spent as much time as possible away from the house, or hidden in his room.

Most days, Jacqueline’s bridesmaids came for tea. They then spent the rest of the afternoon pouring over wedding books and magazines, cooing over the glamorous gowns and the trousseau. They read about what flowers the fashionable brides in New York, Chicago, and San Francisco had at their weddings, and memorised all the silly little rhymes about what brought luck and what brought misfortune on the day.

In general, Spencer felt discomfited when surrounded by people who were not his family. It was made worse when those people were largely made of women towards whom he’d made overtures in the recent past. He was all too glad to leave the home after his chores were complete, going into town to finalise the details of the wedding.

There weren’t enough funds on hand for the wedding, and wouldn’t be until well after harvest. Jacqueline had been willing to change the date, but Spencer wouldn’t hear of it. James had his obligations in Seattle, and it wasn’t up to him, or Jacqueline, to worry about the cost of their wedding. 

Mister Schechter, who had already done so much to help facilitate an understanding between Spencer and all the various collectors and banks who’d come calling upon his father’s death, now took it upon himself to make certain Jacqueline could have the wedding she desired, without costing Spencer unduly. With Mr. Schechter’s word, all the local businesses were happy to make Spencer reasonable deals with regards to how much interest he would pay.

Luckily some of the more excessive expenses of the wedding—the gown, and the flowers—were already seen to. Jacqueline had her their mother’s gown, which settled that. The ceremony would take place in the orchard, trees dripping in fruit and lane lined in rose bushes that still blossomed, though not as prodigiously as in the early summer.

The pink, red, purple, and white hydrangea bushes near the house still hung with beautiful clusters of flowers, to be arranged in the lovely cut crystal vases Jacqueline had received as a wedding gift. Greta, Eloise, and Blythe were planning to weave together sunflowers, dahlias, and ivy for decorating the windows, mantle, and staircases. 

There remained Jacqueline’s nosegay, made of stephanotis and orchids, woven through with orange blossoms. The town’s florist, Madame Ash, offered to provide them free of cost, in exchange for a case of wine and access to the orchard for harvesting apple blossoms in the coming spring.

Similarly, the baker provided his services free of charge in exchange for a discount on his normal order of apples from the orchard. There was a chocolate groom’s cake, a white bride’s cake, and the fruit-filled wedding cake would be packaged in individual gift boxes for the guests, ribbons embossed with Jacqueline and James’ initials.

Unfortunately, the caterers, musicians, and clergy-men had to be paid upfront. Besides those costs, Spencer had to provide carriages from town for those who did not have their own, and cover the travel costs for the family coming from farther away. Thankfully Jacqueline didn’t have their mother’s extravagant tastes, but Spencer still wanted to give her the wedding she deserved, with all the associated bells and whistles.

Spencer wasn’t very concerned; the revenue from the orchard and vineyard would cover these costs and his father’s debt, and there would be enough left over to live comfortably through the rest of the year. He’d be able to send money to Jacqueline for the girls, and see to the needs of the children, and perhaps even set a little aside. All the same, he was glad he wouldn’t have to pay for another wedding for a good two years, at least.

Ryan’s pending arrival had caused Spencer some anxiety. They hadn’t spoken since Ryan’s departure in the spring, and Spencer didn’t know where they stood, and he feared there would be some awkwardness between them. It all dissolved when Spencer went to pick Ryan up at the station. 

The brilliant, easy smile on Ryan’s face was unlike any that Spencer had ever seen from him before. He was dressed in the Bohemian fashion, a colourful ascot at his throat, brown jacket patched at the elbows, a bowler hat with feather tucked in the rim. His hair was longer, past his collar, and full of wild curls, and he’d grown out a thin moustache and goatee. It was ridiculous, but somehow fitting. He was carrying a small rucksack over his shoulder, and a guitar case in his hand.

When they hugged, there was an enthusiasm to it, and Ryan grabbed Spencer’s hand on their walk to the carriage. Spencer took his guitar case for him, and with his now free hand, Ryan gestured broadly as he began to fill Spencer in on all the happenings since last they’d spoken. “I’ve been disowned, Spence,” he said cheerfully. “Dropped out of school, broke things off with Elizabeth, and moved into Alex’s flat.”

Spencer didn’t know quite how to respond to all of that, regarding Ryan sidelong in wide-eyed disbelief. “You don’t sound very upset about it.”

“What is there to be upset about?” Ryan asked him, sincerely. “You know, I did a lot of soul searching after what transpired between us on my last visit. I said a lot of things out of bitterness and anger, but when I had time alone, to really consider what you’d said about trying to find my own happiness, it made a great deal of sense.”

“Well, that’s good,” Spencer said. “But I didn’t mean for you to go and get disowned.”

“It’s the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Spence.” Ryan squeezed his hand once and then let it go to rush on ahead, surveying the area along the boarding platform where the travelling salesmen laid out their wares. He seemed particularly interested in the colourful, frayed scarves one gentleman had arranged across his table. Spencer wasn’t certain why anyone would need even one scarf, in this weather, but Ryan bought three of them, and wrapped them all artfully around his neck.

“Living without all my father’s expectations hanging over my head, like some sword of Damocles…it’s as though I can finally breathe,” Ryan said. “I’m young, and I’m free, and now I can go wherever I want, love whoever I want. Though hopefully, this time I’ll fall for someone more receptive to my affections.”

“I—I’m sorry,” Spencer spluttered, the awkwardness returning.

“Oh, Spence, I’m teasing you,” Ryan said, knocking their shoulders together. “How are things with Brendon, anyway?”

Spencer let out a soft exhale, uncertain of how to address that. It was a slow start, but Ryan pressed until Spencer began to talk. He spent the entire ride home telling Ryan about how things had transpired between them, though he could not bring himself to give the details that Ryan, shameless, begged to hear. Then he told of Brendon’s abrupt departure, and how, since then, Spencer hadn’t heard anything.

When Spencer chanced a look at Ryan in the silence that followed, he saw a thoughtful look upon his friend’s face. “But it’s only been a couple weeks. If his mother’s still alive, he’ll want to spend as much time with her as he can, and if she’s passed away, I doubt he’d think of writing a letter, between his mourning and the preparations for her funeral. Give it some time.”

It sounded so reasonable when Ryan said it. Of course Spencer couldn’t expect Brendon to drop everything to write him. It was so nice to be able to actually talk to someone about it. Gabriel wasn’t the sort to ask directly about such things. He’d intimated that Spencer could talk to him, if he so desired, once he’d learned about Brendon’s departure, but he hadn’t pressed the issue.

“When did you get so wise?” Spencer asked.

“I certainly don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ryan sniffed. “I’ve always been this wise. It isn’t my fault you haven’t recognised it until now.”

That evening, the family had a large meal, with James and his family, and Gabriel, William, and Walker, as well. They put up tables in the yard—one for all the children, and another for the adults, laid out family style like Mother had done. 

For the first time since Brendon’s departure, Spencer found he was enjoying himself. Ryan’s cheerfulness was infectious, especially since their last visit had been so strained. He entertained everyone with stories of his recent adventures with the artists and musicians he lived alongside in Chelsea. 

After dinner, Ryan brought out his guitar and began to play and sing for them. His voice wasn’t as perfect as Brendon or William’s, and it didn’t have the smooth, deep confidence of Gabriel’s, but it was still nice, and well suited to the songs he’d written. Spencer shouldn’t have been surprised by how good they were, given Ryan’s penchant for poetry.

Eventually William, and then Walker took their turns playing songs they’d written. By that point Spencer was drunk on good cheer and a lot of wine, taking turns dancing his sisters and James’ sister, Lydia, around the bonfire. He even gave Calynda a twirl, though Aunt Marabella scowled all the while. Spencer didn’t mind it; he felt light and bubbly. 

Perhaps life was not all he’d imagined it might be, once, but it was _good_. He had a family he loved, and his dear Jacqueline was so happy she shone with it. Brendon was gone, but Spencer wouldn’t let himself dwell on thoughts of whether he’d return, or not. He had good friends in William and Gabriel, and things were once again easy between Ryan and himself. 

At some point in the evening, Ryan and Walker disappeared, and shortly after, Gabriel and William said their goodnights. Spencer managed to tuck Aaron and Maria in before tumbling into bed himself. Ryan was supposed to share with him, but he and Walker were off somewhere, probably still discussing music. Spencer left on the bedside lamp so Ryan could find his way.

The next morning, Spencer woke to a still empty bed, and came downstairs to find the house bustling with activity, as was all too normal these days. It was Monday, a little over a week before the wedding. The ceremony would take place the following Wednesday. He found Ryan, Walker, and Gabriel working in the vineyard. 

“I didn’t want to disturb you,” Ryan said, when Spencer asked. “I bunked with Jon last night.”

Gabriel snorted, and Walker shot him a sly smirk, and Spencer wasn’t sure how to take that exchange, so he ignored it. “I need to run into town to pick up the linens and candles, and speak with the musicians. Do you want to come?”

“How can I pass up a visit to the ever charming down town Atwana,” Ryan said, tone droll, but he was smiling.

Ryan insisted on visiting William’s library, and after he spent an age perusing the shelves, they went out for an early lunch. At the post office, besides the deliveries Spencer was expecting, there was a large package addressed to James and Jacqueline and marked fragile. By the Friday two weeks prior to the wedding all the gifts had arrived. Jacqueline had made a list of all those who’d received invitations, which of those had included the _no gifts accepted_ note, and crossed off each as she sent out her thank-yous, so that none would be missed. It was certainly puzzling.

“Who could it be from?” Jacqueline wondered, when Spencer placed it on the table upon arriving home. All their siblings and the bridesmaids gathered close to see as she opened it.

Inside, resting on the white tissue paper, was an envelope, and Jacqueline opened it delicately, reading the card out loud, “Dear Miss Jacqueline, Though I cannot be with you to celebrate your special day in person, please know that I am with you all in spirit. You will never know what it meant to me to be welcomed into your lives, and for that I wish you and your bridegroom all the love and happiness in the world. 

“Please accept this gift as a small token of my affection for you. My sister tells me that here in New York, these clocks have become all the rage as wedding gifts. They are called Anniversary Clocks, and they only need winding once a year. You can wind it on your wedding night, and then, every year after, on your anniversary. It is said that doing so will lead to long and joyous life together. I am, Ever your friend, Brendon Urie.”

Jacqueline parted the paper and lifted out the mantle clock, and all the girls began murmuring excitedly. It was a lovely, delicate thing, made of painted porcelain and gold gilt brass. The face was painted with a nature scene of a forest in springtime, the casing lined in pearls and accented with rose quartz and aquamarine. 

The exposed pendulum was unlike any Spencer had seen; four balls on intricate spokes hung by a thin wire that, when Jacqueline gave it an experimental turn, spun rather than swinging side to side. It all sat upon a gilt base where a plaque spelled out their names and wedding date. 

“Brendon,” Moriene asked, nose wrinkled. “Your farmhand? How on Earth would he…That has to be worth more than he could make in a year.”

“Moriene,” Jacqueline scolded. “It isn’t polite to speculate on these things.” Spencer knew her well enough that even though she protested, he knew she was just as curious.

“Oh Jackie,” Eloise said. “No one will ever know. Look at those pearls, and the ormolu! I’d say it has to be at least four hundred dollars. Why, every time I saw him he was wearing the same exact outfit.”

“He was working in the orchard,” Jacqueline said, exasperated. “He had no reason to dress fancy.”

“He did talk about his family’s home back in Ireland,” Silvia said. “It sounded like a big place, and they had tutors, and servants.”

“Well, if he had the kind of money, what was he even doing here in the first place?” Moriene asked.

Jacqueline clapped her hands together to silence the chattering. “Brendon gave this gift from a place of great affection. I won’t have you all talking like this about him in his absence.” She passed the clock to Heather very gently. “You and Selena can go find a special place to display it among the other gifts.”

The girls all went upstairs in a flurry, discussing how Brendon had ever afforded such a thing, and could it possibly be real, and was he coming back, and might he be in the market for a bride. Spencer was too distracted by his own questions to pay them much mind.

“Can you believe them?” Jacqueline said, as she began unpacking all the tissue paper. “Though I must admit, it is something of a surprise. I had guessed he was from a nice family, but I’d never had the slightest inkling that he came from such money.”

“A nice family,” Ryan echoed. “I know you aren’t privy to the most recent gossip all the way out here, but surely you remember the Uries from when you lived in New York.” At their blank looks, Ryan sighed. “Boyd Urie, who made his money with the railroads?” 

Walker made a noise of understanding, and Gabriel suddenly looked concerned. “You mean the one who took over for Driscoll,” he said.

“No,” Spencer said, immediately, and vehemently. He ignored the voice in his head that told him it might make some sense, if that were the case. Why Brendon hadn’t wanted to speak about his past.

Jacqueline gave them all a quelling look and said, “We don’t know that Brendon is related to those Uries in any way. Honestly, your gossiping is no better than the girls’. I don’t even know how to go about thanking him for something so rich.”

Gabriel rolled his eyes behind her back, but Walker and Ryan looked properly chastised. “If he had the money to spend on it, then to him, it was no more an extravagant gift than the crystal was from William, or the china from the Culters,” Ryan pointed out.

“I suppose you’re right,” Jacqueline said. “It really is a lovely sentiment behind the gift.” As she emptied out the last of the packaging, another card fell to the floor. “Spence,” she said, as she bent to pick it up. “This one is addressed to you.”

Spencer could barely hear over the beating of his heart. He took the letter and tucked it in his pocket, trying not to appear overly invested in it. From the looks Gabriel and Ryan were giving him, he’d obviously failed miserably. Spencer wanted nothing more than to rush up to his room and open the letter, but there were things to be done, and for once, his absence would be noticed and remarked upon.

Later that evening, after the bridesmaids had gone home, once they’d had dinner, and Calynda was playing piano to entertain the family, Spencer made his excuses. Ryan said he was going to sleep in Walker’s room again, and when Spencer expressed his confusion, Ryan had just smiled, patted his hand, and said, “Don’t you have a letter to read?”

So Spencer went to his room alone and tore open the letter. He could almost imagine Brendon’s voice, as if he were here in the room, speaking these words to Spencer directly.  
 __  
 _Dearest Spencer,_  
 _I am sorry for the delay; I wished to write you sooner, but besides my mother’s illness, there are many issues demanding my immediate attention. Many times I have put a pen to paper, but the words refused to come. There are so many things I regret about our time together. So many opportunities wasted. These last few days, as my mother has lost touch with her senses, I have come to appreciate how precious and brief our time on this Earth is. I see now how foolish I was to keep the things from you that I did. If I had it to do all over again, I’d never have fought your advances from the start, and I would have told you everything. Now is not the time, or the place, however. There are things I simply cannot put on paper, and there are things which must be told face to face. I’m afraid I do not know how long I will have to remain here. Though Mother’s days are few, I have obligations which I have been avoiding for too long._

_If you have seen my gift for Miss Jacqueline and Doctor Glasius, I’m sure you’ve already drawn a few conclusions of your own. Allow me to explain. Upon my 21st birthday this past April, I came into a great deal of money. It was left in a trust by my maternal grandfather, to keep it from falling into my father’s hands. My family’s wealth is not something I’ve ever relished, or coveted. The trappings of wealth feel far too much like a prison for my taste. Upon meeting you and your family, I’ve grown to realise that there is a purpose in everything. I have spoken to my lawyers and my accountant, and set up a trust for you to attend Washington State University, in Seattle. I know you will have qualms about accepting such a gift, but I beg of you to do so. Never have I met someone so deserving of all life has to offer, and your generous, selfless nature has robbed you of so much opportunity. That needn’t be the case, and if you were to use this trust to this end, I would finally find true worth in the wealth that has caused me such discomfort all my life. I am certain you will need time to consider my proposal. If you choose to proceed, the term starts on September 15th. You will need to speak to a Professor Ford in the admissions office to discuss your course of study. You have, no doubt, many concerns—about the children and the farm. These are issues that can be easily resolved, if you will allow it. You need only accept my offer, and I will see to the rest. I know that this, and all that remains to for me to share with you, will come as quite a shock. I remain hopeful that you were sincere when you said that I could tell you anything. It has been my observation that lovers can forgive many a folly and transgression, but when one has wealth disproportionate to the other, it rarely lasts. I assure you that to me, money is no issue, and it never will be, unless you make it so._

_There is something more. The trust, in your name, now holds all but 10% of my net wealth, and my family estate in Ireland. If, after I have told you all of that which lies in my past you will still have me, and if you cannot accept my offer to share my wealth with you and your family, then all those possessions will stay where they are. I will happily live the rest of my days with you on the farm. But when I express my hope that you will accept, it is not because I wish to regain access to the money. Instead, it is with the desire to see you achieve the great things I know you will, given the chance. I will contact you as soon as I’m able. In the meantime, I hope you can put aside your anger and your pride, and contact Mr Schechter. He will have the necessary paperwork to take possession of your trust, and can help with all the details, including putting you in contact with Professor Ford._

_Until we speak again, know you remain in my heart. Always, with undying love, your own,_  
Brendon  
  
There were too many thoughts and emotions swirling within Spencer for him to pin any one down and examine it. He read the letter several more time, pacing the floor, before tucking it away in the box with Brendon’s postcards, and leaving his room. A light shone from under Walker’s door, though the rest of the house was dark and still. Spencer hesitated, but his mind was in too much turmoil, and there was no way he could wait to speak to someone. He rapped lightly at the door.

There was some shuffling from within, and then Walker opened the door just slightly. When his gaze fell on Spencer, he arched a questioning brow, but opened all the way. He was shirtless, in a pair of thin sleep pants. Behind him, Ryan sat on the open window ledge, in a similar state of undress, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.

Spencer wasn’t sure what showed on his face, but as soon as Ryan saw it, he was on his feet. “Spence? What is it?” Spencer swallowed and glanced sidelong at Walker. “Ah, let’s…” Ryan passed his cigarette to Walker and tugged on his shirt, which was lying at the foot of the bed. “Why don’t I sleep in your room, tonight?” he said to Spencer.

Walker didn’t seem offended by the exchange. As Spencer went back into his room, he heard Walker whispering something to Ryan along the lines that he hoped everything was alright. If he weren’t so distracted with his own issues, he might have asked about what, exactly, was transpiring between the two of them. Later, once he sorted this out. If he could ever sort this out.

Once they were alone in Spencer’s room, Spencer took out the box and laid it on the bed. “What’s this?” Ryan asked, sitting down and lifting the lid. He picked up Brendon’s letter where it sat on top, and examined the remaining contents with curiosity.

“Read it. You should…” Spencer didn’t know how to even begin to summarise it. “Read it.” He sat watching as Ryan unfolded the letter and began to read. His brow immediately wrinkled and he shot Spencer a look of deep concern. Spencer couldn’t bear seeing his reactions, and got to his feet to stare out the window, hands clasped behind his back.

It felt as though it took an eternity, though Spencer knew it must have only been a few minutes, before he heard Ryan folding the letter and placing it back in the box. “Spencer,” he said, voice soft with awe. “This is—this is amazing. You can finally do what you’ve always wanted. You don’t have to be trapped here, why—why aren’t you pleased?”

“It can’t be that easy,” Spencer said. “You and William act as though with enough money or a change of scenery we can somehow change the rules by which our society lives.”

“But it _is_ true,” Ryan said passionately. “There are people, in New York and Paris, and in Seattle, too, who quietly live their lives, free from persecution. And the sort of obscene wealth Brendon obviously has will only make it easier. As long as you aren’t overly outspoken about it, no one will bother you there.”

“But how could I ever explain it to the children? Or to Jacqueline and James, for that matter?”

“You know,” Ryan said in that overly reasonable voice he had that made it sound like he was questioning Spencer’s intelligence, “sometimes it seems as though you’ll use any excuse to keep you here. You say you want to leave, but I wonder if you aren’t afraid of what might happen, if you do.”

“That’s absurd,” Spencer said. Because it was, was it not? He’d longed to escape since the moment they arrived.

“You’ve never been very good at realising your worth,” Ryan said. “You resigned yourself to this life so readily because you don’t think you deserve any better. I know you do, and so does Jacqueline. She’s lost too much in her life to lose you over something so small as who you love. I think if you spoke to her, you’d find her far more accepting of such a thing than you might imagine.”

“How _could_ she be?” Spencer demanded. “How could she even know such a thing exists?”

Ryan’s lips pursed in inexplicable annoyance. “So you don’t just sell yourself short, but others as well. Jacqueline is a very clever woman. How could she not be, with the way she and Crystal always trailed along behind us? And, if you must know, Jacqueline and I have discussed this very thing.”

“You’ve— _what_?” Spencer sputtered. “You—”

“The last time I was here,” Ryan said. “When Jacqueline took me to the train station. She already suspected, and I confirmed, my reason for leaving.”

“But she never said anything!” Spencer protested.

“What was there to say? I told her of my own inversion, and that you had rebuffed my advances.” Ryan shrugged one shoulder. “I do think that once she got over her initial surprise, she was somewhat disappointed that you did not accept. She only wants your happiness, you know.”

Spencer opened his mouth, but found he had no words. When he’d imagined his sister discovering what was between himself and Brendon, he’d imagined tears and recrimination. He’d imagined losing his entire family. He’d never hoped for understanding, let alone acceptance.

“As for the children,” Ryan said delicately in Spencer’s silence, “I highly doubt they’ll care _why_ they’re moving. They’ll only be glad to stay close to you and Jacqueline, and one another. I do recall, although it was a fact that brought me little pleasure at the time of my last visit, they are all quite fond of Brendon.

Despite Ryan’s reassurances, the tension along Spencer’s shoulders would not dissipate. “But—”

“Oh, stop fighting it, Spencer. Weren’t you the one who told me that we needed to do what we want every once in a while? You’ve done for everyone else. It’s your turn.”

“You aren’t actually being any help,” Spencer said.

“Why? Because I’m not validating what you’re already thinking?” Ryan sighed. “What’s happening to you is the sort of thing that only happens in fiction. Wealthy men never choose their lovers. They marry women in their own class, and then they spend their nights visiting brothels. Maybe put their lover in a nice apartment and dress them up, maybe take them out to dance now and then, always returning to their family. Brendon has chosen you. The fact that he would give away his wealth to be with you should say more than enough about how truly he loves you.”

“I don’t doubt that he loves me,” Spencer admitted quietly. “Though I have myriad concerns that is not one of them.” He sat down on the edge of the bed, fingers idly tracing over the lid of the box. “If I. Even if I were to accept, what of the farm? Gabriel has his own obligations. He would never want to be tied here; that isn’t his life.”

“He’s here often enough that he could manage the place. And when he’s gone…” Ryan took a deep breath. “I was sincere when I told you that I love this place. I wanted to stay, before, and now I have nothing tying me down.”

Spencer gave him a dubious look. “You love the city. You love your friends there.”

“This place has poetry in it, Spencer. I feel more alive here. Between William’s library, and his company, as well as Jon and Gabe’s, I would be more than content. Besides, as Jacqueline has pointed out on several occasions, Seattle is close enough for weekend visits. With the extra space, you could hire more workers. I’m certain Jon knows some good people—he’s worked all over. And I learned a bit on my last visit. I could learn more.”

“You. You’re serious,” Spencer said.

Ryan scooted closer on the bed, taking both of Spencer’s hands in his. “Spencer, _I love you_. I’m not telling you this to bring you discomfort, and I don’t want your pity; in time I’ll get past it. It helps that I can plainly see how much Brendon loves you, too. I’ve found what will make me happy, and we all know what would make you happy. We can both get what we want, and all you have to do is give in.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” Spencer admitted. “I’m not good at…I don’t…”

“You’re a stubborn ass, you mean,” Ryan said. “It’s alright,” he continued, before Spencer could really protest. “I happen to find it charming.”

“Ryan,” Spencer sighed. He shook his head, somewhere between amazement and regret. “I wish I could have felt the same.”

“Yeah,” Ryan agreed. He inched a little closer and leaned forward, laying his head on Spencer’s shoulder. “I do, too, but the heart wants what it wants, and your heart wants Brendon. You could survive without him, and you could have a decent life here. But would you ever find another person who makes you feel like he does? Would you ever find fulfilment? Or would you look back in forty years and be filled with regret?”

Spencer didn’t know what to say. Of course he knew the answer. He knew he could find someone who could make him happy. He might have burned that bridge with Greta, but he could find a woman like her, and he could be happy. 

Ryan was right, it would never feel like it had with Brendon. Maybe, if there were enough of a reason _not_ to be with Brendon, Spencer could accept that. If the only thing holding them back from being together was Spencer’s pride, however, Spencer would never fully forgive himself. He would always wonder what could have been.

“Go and speak with your lawyer, at least,” Ryan said. “Maybe once you’ve learned all the details, it will make your decision easier.”’

It was a reasonable suggestion. “It couldn’t hurt,” Spencer said. “Thank you for being such a good friend.”

Ryan hummed his agreement. “You should speak to Jacqueline, too.”

“She’s so busy with the wedding preparation. The last thing she needs is me laying this on her, as well,” Spencer protested.

“She will manage fine. The sooner you speak to her, the better you’ll feel. You should trust me on this.”

Spencer turned that thought over and over in his mind as he tried to sleep that evening, when he was thinking of the dozens of other concerns he had over the letter and Brendon’s proposition. At some point in the early hours before dawn, he managed a few hours of rest, but his dreams were dark and disjointed. 

He dreamed he was the one being wed, instead of Jacqueline, and his bride was Moriene Willis. Brendon was in the crowd of revellers, though he paid no mind to Spencer. Instead, all his focus was on the beautiful, elegant woman on his arm. The entire ceremony he was leaning in to whisper in her ear, the two of them sharing secret smiles.

Spencer woke sweating in the early morning heat, his heart racing. Ryan was already gone, and downstairs Spencer could hear many feet shuffling about. He washing up and dressed, all the while his thoughts still occupied by the dream. It still hung about him as he descended the stairs, and it felt quite real. He could not eat breakfast; between the lingering effect of the dream, and his anxiety over the letter, his stomach had soured.

Even as busy as she was, Jacqueline noticed a change in him. “You look pale,” she said, touching the back of her hand to his forehead, his cheek, sweeping back his hair to touch his neck. “You’re so clammy, Spencer, do you feel ill?”

Spencer ducked away from her touch. “I didn’t sleep well is all,” he said.

Jacqueline gave him a look that clearly said she thought he was lying. “It does no good to pretend you aren’t unwell. Sickness won’t be fooled by your stubbornness.”

“I’m not sick,” Spencer insisted. “I—” He thought of what Ryan said, about having faith in Jacqueline. Now was not the time, with Jacqueline’s friends running around, and his cousins sitting at the breakfast table. He forced himself to smile reassuringly at his sister. “Do you recall the conversation you had with Ryan, when you took him to the train station?”

Eyes widening, Jacqueline’s hands dropped back to her side. “I…” She glanced around them, but no one was paying them any mind.

“It was a similar concern that plagued my mind last night,” Spencer said, “making it nearly impossible to sleep, as I’m sure you can understand.” Jacqueline nodded silently. Spencer didn’t know what to make of the expression on her face. “Perhaps we could talk this evening, after the others have gone to sleep.”

Jacqueline nodded, then seemed to come to her senses. “Of course, Spence. Of…of course.” It was obvious she wanted to say something more, but she bit her lip. 

Then, quite to Spencer’s surprise, she threw her arms about his neck, drawing him into a hug. Spencer patted at her back, gave into the embrace briefly, holding her near, and then released her. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, and she smiled back, though her eyes were a bit teary.

It was possible that Jacqueline hadn’t entirely understood what he meant, but her reaction left Spencer hopeful. With that hope held close in his heart, Spencer went to town.

Mister Schechter was quite excited to see Spencer, when he arrived. He’d received a letter the previous week, and had been awaiting Spencer’s visit. There was a great deal of paperwork for Spencer to go over, from Brendon’s lawyers and a bank in Seattle, as well as the University. The details quite honestly did not put Spencer’s mind at ease. 

Upon seeing the actual amount of money in the trust, Spencer finally understood what Ryan had meant when he’d spoken of obscene wealth. Mister Schechter explained that a fair amount of the money was tied up in land and investments, but the liquid funds totalled over one-hundred thousand dollars. It was the sort of wealth that Spencer, who’d been brought up quite comfortably, couldn’t even imagine.

The papers had been drawn up anonymously, for which Spencer was quite grateful. It allowed him to feign wonder over who his benefactor could be. Mister Schechter suggested a distant relation, but had to know it wasn’t the case. After all, he had been the one to search for any living relative to take the children after Spencer’s parent’s death.

“All you have to do is sign these,” Mister Schechter explained, “and once it’s filed you’ll have access to the account. There are several properties tied to the inheritance, in Scotland, France, and New York, but it is the house in Seattle that is being readied for you at the moment, the key to which is held by a Mister Hickman at the bank.”

Spencer stared at the forms blankly; it was too much to take in all at once. “I’m not certain that I should accept,” he admitted.

“Why ever not?” Mister Schechter asked.

“There has to be—who could accept this kind of wealth?” Spencer asked.

Mister Schechter gave Spencer a kindly look. “You are a very decent and hard-working young man, Spencer, and you’ve dealt with hardships most boys your age cannot imagine. I’ve known several people to come into sudden and unexpected inheritances, but none so deserving as you.”

Spencer bowed his head. He didn’t know how to accept such praise. After a moment, Mister Schechter gathered up the papers, reassembling them neatly in a folder. “If you have concerns, we can address them. Perhaps you are uncertain what to do about the children, or the farm.”

“That is part of it,” Spencer agreed. “I suppose I could take the children with me, but I don’t know how I could see to them and my studies at the same time.”

“While most men your age would be expected to live in the dormitories, it is my understanding, thanks to a telegram from Professor Ford, that an exception has been made in your case. I haven’t seen the home in question, but the value and location would lead me to believe that it would be more than appropriate for your family. 

“With the sort of money you are inheriting, you could afford the very best caretakers for the children. It is not only your own life you would be improving by the move. Miss Greta is an excellent teacher, but a school such as hers suffers from many limitations. In Seattle, whether you chose to put them into a public school, or hire tutors, the children would be have much greater opportunities.”

That, more than anything Brendon had written, or Ryan had said, swayed Spencer’s heart. It had felt, up to this point, that accepting would be a purely selfish thing to do. Of course he hadn’t considered what it would mean for the girls, and for Aaron. Their prospects would be increased tenfold. He didn’t want them to be resigned to this life as he had been, hoping to find a decent man to marry in this small, backwards place. He wanted them to have the chance to study, if that was what they desired.

“If you need time to think on it, of course you can take all the time you need. The money isn’t going anywhere,” Mister Schechter said. “Though I would urge you to accept sooner rather than later. We have spoken before about what you would be doing now if it hadn’t been for the accident. With this sort of windfall, there is no need for you to postpone your future any longer.”

“There are so many things happening right now. Even if I were to accept, I don’t think going this semester would be a good idea,” Spencer said. “There’s the wedding in a few days, and in a few weeks it will be one harvest after another. We’ll need to hire some temporary hands. It’s too much.”

Mister Schechter put his finger to his mouth, considering. “The move itself should be quite simple. It is my understanding your new home is furnished, and though your wardrobes are quite respectable for Atwana, I think you’ll find that what is suitable on the farm is not quite up to snuff in the city. I can help you arrange for some men to move your personal belongings. If you plan on selling the farm, of course that will take some more time, but I can handle it without your presence.”

“No,” Spencer said sharply. If he were to do this, if he were to cast aside his doubts and go on this fool-hardy adventure, he still could not part with the farm. Not now. His parents had made a mistake coming here, but it had been all of his mother’s hopes and dreams. For all her faults, he loved her still, and to sell to some stranger simply because he didn’t need it any longer felt callous. “No, I think I would prefer to leave it in Gabriel’s hands, to manage in my absence. If he agrees.”

“Very well,” Mister Schechter said. “That makes things much easier. Of course with this money, the rest of your father’s debts can be cleared immediately. Paying your temporary hands will be no issue, and it is my understanding that many labourers travel to this area at this time of year for the work. I’m not trying to persuade you, only to tell you that in honesty, there are no insurmountable hurdles to your attending classes this fall.”

Spencer nodded. He felt shaky, and a bit ill, and somewhat exhilarated. “I’ll need to discuss it with Jacqueline and the children, of course. My parents uprooted me without taking my wishes into consideration. I won’t do the same to them.”

Mister Schechter nodded. “Of course. Might I make a suggestion, however?” At Spencer’s gesture, he continued. “After Miss Jacqueline’s wedding, take a trip to the city. Speak to Professor Ford, take a tour of the campus, visit the home. It might help you reach your decision to see the place that would be your new home.”

It would be so very nice to get away from Atwana, even for a weekend. Spencer hadn’t been to a real city in years, and the mere suggestion filled him with excitement. Whether he accepted or not, it would be a respite before the harvest, after the commotion of the wedding. 

Spencer’s interest must have shown clearly on his face, because Mister Schechter began discussing making arrangements. He would contact the bank and Professor Ford to set up meetings. Spencer just needed to send word to him which days he wanted to travel. It was all too easily falling into place and Spencer had trouble believing it could be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long in coming. This fic definitely got away from where I originally intended it to go, drawn on longer, and taken a different path, and I'm still not entirely happy with how it's turning out. I've been agonising over this chapter and rewriting it literally for MONTHS, and I've decided I'm just going to finish this and get it out, and maybe it won't be perfect, but I want to finish it.


	13. Chapter 13

Spencer had barely closed his bedroom door that evening before Jacqueline slipped inside, closing and locking it behind her. Spencer gave her a startled look, pausing in unbuttoning his shirt. She was already in her nightgown, her long hair free about her shoulders. It didn’t feel wholly appropriate, but then, very few of the things that happened in this bedroom were appropriate, as of late. This, at least, was innocent.

Jacqueline glanced around the room before coming further in, taking a seat on the bed and clutching one of Spencer’s pillows to her chest. “I thought Ryan would be here, as well.”

“I think he’s sleeping in Walker’s room again,” Spencer said, waving a hand dismissively. “They seem to be getting on swimmingly.”

“Oh.” Jacqueline’s brow furrowed in confusion. “I wonder if I didn’t misunderstand your meaning this morning.”

Spencer let out a long sigh. He threw aside his notions of propriety and sat next to Jacqueline on the bed, taking one of her slender hands in his. “I hope you didn’t, because it will make this much easier on me.”

Jacqueline licked her lips, a nervous gesture. “Ryan—on the way to the train, Ryan told me that his feelings for you were romantic in nature, but that you did not return them.”

“That is true,” Spencer said, marvelling at Ryan’s bravery. Or perhaps his foolishness. “I did not return his feelings because I was already in love with Brendon at that point in time.” 

Jacqueline’s fingers clenched tightly at Spencer’s before releasing him to clasp her hands together in her lap. “ _Brendon_?” she said softly, wondering. “Oh, I had thought that you and Ryan…” She stopped abruptly and shook her head. “I suppose that explains why you’ve been moping about since he left.”

“I haven’t been moping,” Spencer protested, because he _hadn’t_ been. He wasn’t some lovesick girl. Certainly he’d missed Brendon, but he was able to carry-on with his duties and obligations.

“Oh, really, Spencer!” Jacqueline scolded, “I thought you’d finally realised what a mistake you’d made breaking things off with Greta and that she had, rightly so, put you in your place. But Brendon! You never even acted like you liked him all that much, let alone…”

“I can’t explain exactly how it happened,” Spencer said. “Sometimes I wish it hadn’t. Maybe then I could have been happy with Miss Greta, and it would make everything in my life far less complicated.”

Jacqueline touched a hand lightly to his shoulder, and when Spencer leaned into it, she pressed more firmly. It was soothing, the broad circle she drew over his back. It reminded him of being a child in his bed in New York, his mother tucking him in at night. Though his mother would have never had this level of understanding, if she had known of her eldest child’s deviance.

“I’ll admit, I had some inkling, before Ryan said anything,” Jacqueline told him. “Those books you read, Spencer, I’ve read a few of them myself.” 

Spencer felt his cheeks colour. There was nothing explicit in his novels, but he supposed if you looked at them altogether, there was an unmistakable theme. Now that he considered it, it was no wonder Greta had guessed about him, with the books he’d loaned to her over their courtship.

“I never would have chosen to be this way,” Spencer rushed to assure her.

“Well, now he’s gone and you can move on,” Jacqueline said hesitantly. “Maybe you could try again with Greta—”

“I couldn’t do that to her,” Spencer said. “She deserves better. Anyway, there’s more I need to tell you. The letter Brendon sent me contained an offer. As you might have guessed, he has a…a considerable fortune, left to him by his grandfather, and he has offered to use it in part to move us all to Seattle, so the children can stay together, and so I can go to university there.”

“Why would he offer such a thing?” Jacqueline asked.

Spencer could try to explain his way around it, make it seem more innocent than it was, but he wouldn’t be doing himself any favours. If they did go through with this, she’d figure things out eventually for herself. 

“So that he and I can be together,” he said. “We’ll live with him in his home, Silvia, Maria, Aaron, and I. We’ll have tutors for the children, and I will be able to devote my time to my studies.”

Jacqueline was stunned silent by the suggestion. “ _How_? How can you do such a thing?”

Spencer began to explain, as the others had with him, how attitudes were different in larger cities. How truly extravagantly wealthy Brendon was. How the trust was in Spencer’s name, now, so no one would know Brendon had paid for these things. Spencer would appear independently wealthy, and it wasn’t so strange for two wealthy young men to share a home. Then he told her of Brendon’s alternate offer to return to the farm.

“That’s…that’s so romantic,” Jacqueline said, though she seemed discomfited by it. “Like something out of a book.”

“Ryan said the same thing,” Spencer said. “He told me I should accept.”

“Are you going to?” Jacqueline asked.

“I couldn’t, without your approval,” Spencer said.

Jacqueline wrung her hands in her lap. “Oh, no,” she said, “you can’t expect me to tell you what to do. I don’t understand this at all.”

“I love him,” Spencer whispered, unable to meet her gaze. “I only want to be with him, but I won’t let you or the children suffer because of my selfishness.”

“I’ve never known you to do anything out of selfishness. Whatever you do, I know you’ll keep the best interests of the children at heart,” Jacqueline said. “You have already put far more consideration into their well-being than our parents ever did. You say you love Brendon, and I know most would say it’s wicked, but I know your heart, Spencer. I know what a good man you are, and I know you love us all.”

Spencer pulled her into a hug, and it was such a relief when she did not hesitate in returning it. She wrapped her slender arms around him, buried her face against his chest. He was reminded, inexplicably, of being children in New York, the two of them and Crystal sneaking around after their parents were asleep, making tents of blankets and telling one another stories. It had been so long since they’d behaved like siblings that he’d almost forgotten what it had been like, and he missed it.

“I want to do it,” Spencer confessed, to her and to himself. “Since I read it, I’ve wanted to do it, but I thought you would never understand, and I wouldn’t have blamed you.”

Jacqueline nodded her head, cheek rubbing against his shirt front. “Then you should do it. I would do anything to be with James. You deserve to have the same chance.”

With Jacqueline, Ryan, and Mister Schechter in agreement, the answer seemed clear. They were only echoing what Spencer already felt in his heart. It raced in his chest now as he finally allowed himself to believe this was real. He could be with Brendon, and he could go to school, and fate might finally smile upon him and his family.

*

The ceremony was held on Wednesday afternoon. All morning Spencer, Ryan, and Gabriel were busy running around the house, helping to set up the tables on the lawn for dinner, directing caterers and bakers, and seeing to last minute details.

Jacqueline and her bridesmaids took over the upstairs, and through the open windows, Spencer could hear the giggling and chattering. Their joy was infectious; even with all the work to be done, Spencer couldn’t stop beaming. 

James and his ushers arrived a few hours before the wedding, gathering in the study. It was strange, being around James’ friends—men only a few years older than him, already finished with their studies and on to their professional lives. 

Only a week ago, the situation would have only depressed Spencer, but now he was hopeful. Perhaps in a few years, he would be like them, able to join in discussions about his most recent patient, or a study he was conducting.

“Jacqueline told me of your inheritance,” James told Spencer. “I can’t tell you how pleased I am to hear it. I know she had anxiety over splitting the children.”

“As did I,” Spencer said. “We’ve always been close, but our parents’ death only made our bond that much stronger. But I haven’t accepted yet. I wanted to visit Seattle, and see the home that is part of the inheritance.”

James gave him a bemused look. “Of course you’ll accept it; why wouldn’t you? Your uncle certainly won’t be needing it any longer, and if you don’t, it won’t do anyone any good.”

Spencer wasn’t surprised that Jacqueline had made up a story to explain the trust to James. Her acceptance was more than he could have hoped for; he wouldn’t have her risking her future happiness because of Spencer’s actions. It made it more difficult, however, to explain his reluctance.

“Well,” James went on, clearly unaware of Spencer’s discomfort, “I’m certain my mother would be happy to stay with the children for a day or two, if you need to make the trip.”

“That would be—the children do adore her,” Spencer said. “If she wouldn’t mind…”

James wrapped an arm around Spencer’s shoulder, pulling him into a hug. “We’re family, now, Spencer. Family does for one another.”

“I can’t think of anyone else I’d rather have as a brother,” Spencer said.

“Nor can I,” James agreed. “And once we’re all in Seattle, we can work on finding a bride for you. I know things didn’t turn out how you’d hoped with Greta, but there will be much greater opportunity in the city.”

Spencer forced a smile, and said, “I think I’ll be focussing on my studies, for the time being.” 

“Of course,” James said, like he didn’t believe it for a moment. If this all went to plan, Spencer had no doubt that James would one day learn the truth, but for now he pushed that thought aside. Today there was no room for such worries.

It was late afternoon when the time came for Spencer to walk Jacqueline down the aisle. The angle of the sun cast a dusty golden glow over the foyer, and it was like he was dreaming when Spencer watched Jacqueline descend the stairs, like a glimpse back in time at their mother. He remembered the way her skirts swirled elegantly around her ankles, the musical sound of her laughter, the infectious smile like the one Jacqueline wore now. But she smelled like the orange blossoms in her hair, not the exotic, musky scent their mother preferred, and when she hugged him, she was small in his arms. In his memories, his mother was larger than life. In his memories, Spencer was always a child. 

They walked arm and arm across the grass to the lane. At the edge of the orchard all the bridesmaids were waiting looking like something out of the magazines they'd been reading, with flowers in hand, under the glowing fairy lamps. Spencer had ordered them special from Seattle, as his little gift to Jacqueline. She’d seen an advertisement and mentioned how magical they looked, but said it was a frivolous and unnecessary expense. Now she lit up at the sight of them. 

“Spencer,” she said, laughing in helpless joy.

Spencer stopped them both, bending to press a kiss to her forehead. Then he brought her veil up over her face, arranging it until it fell in neat ripples. Heather stepped up to them to present Jacqueline with her nosegay. She examined it for a moment and looked up at Spencer expectantly. He linked their arms again, and Selena urged Maria to start her way towards the gathering, leading the procession and tossing petals as she went. Aaron trailed along behind her, looking solemn and proud carrying the rings upon a heart shaped pillow of lace.

When it came their turn to walk down the aisle, Spencer had worried he'd feel like an unsuitable substitute for a father figure, but that wasn't the case. He wasn't a father figure, but he knew Jacqueline better than their father ever had, and he valued her happiness more highly. When he was asked to give her away, he was so pleased and relieved to place her hand in James'. 

After that, he didn't really process very much of the ceremony. He saw their bright, happy faces, the tears glistening in Jacqueline's eyes and the way James thumbed them away before he kissed her and his thoughts were all tied up with Brendon. Not with concerns about his money or his family, or what others might think. He was only thinking that no one else would ever make him feel the way Jacqueline did for James, the way his father had for his mother, and that was all that mattered.

*

Seattle was even busier than Spencer remembered New York being. It was just after 9 in the morning when he arrived at the train station and the street outside was bustling. There were people on bikes weaving in and out through the buggies and the occasional automobile puttering along. Men in suits carrying valises hurrying along, women in the newest fashions strolling along under their parasols. Kids as young as Maria and Aaron were begging for handouts from the travellers and the street was lined with vendors.

There was a cab waiting for Spencer that took him to the bank. On the ride he raised the shade and leaned out the window to watch the city pass by. Nearer to the station there was a lot of construction, but as they drove they moved into the more established part of town. The streets were nicer and more even, the traffic no less busy, but better regulated. The First National Bank of Seattle sat gleaming on a corner, the arches of the brick façade and the way the windows reflected the sun like a mirror had an intimidating effect. 

Spencer felt profoundly out of place walking inside, shoes clacking on the shiny floor. He thought of what Mr. Schechter had said, about needing a new wardrobe for the city. Just another thing to worry about in the coming weeks. The man who was waiting for Spencer didn't look much older than him, but had on a suit that made Spencer start sweating just to see, in the late August heat. “Mister Smith, I'm Dallon Weekes,” he said, offering a hand to shake. “I'll be showing you the property this morning, and at Mister Schechter's request I've arranged for you to meet with a handful of tutors for your children.”

“My siblings,” Spencer corrected.

“Of course,” Mister Weekes said, “I apologise. After you'll be meeting with Professor Ford at the University.”

This time they took a motorised vehicle, and as they ascended what Mister Weekes told him was called First Hill, Spencer could see why. The incline was rather steep, and he felt sorry for the people trudging along outside the automobile, bent into the angle of the climb. From the top, the view was beautiful, the city and surrounding trees and land stretching out for miles. 

“My family live just down that way,” Mister Weekes said, as they passed Cherry Street, indicating a yellow, cheerful looking house. “My wife Breezy and our daughter Amelie, just 11 weeks old tomorrow.” He looked unmistakably proud.

“Congratulations,” Spencer said, unable to help but smile in the face of the man's happiness.

“And here we are,” Mister Weekes said. They'd turned onto Jefferson Street, and there on a generous square of grass, was Brendon's home, large and unmistakably grand.

Inside the furniture was draped in sheets, dust motes drifting down through the beams of light. Mister Weekes ran a hand over the curve of the bannister. “A staff can be hired as soon as you sign the paperwork. Once you have a housekeeper and a maid or two, they'll have the place ready to inhabit within a few days. The home has been empty for a while—the previous owner only visited on occasion—and you'll need new furnishings in some of the rooms, especially for the children's bedrooms. But the home was built after the sewage regulations were implemented so there's running water and waste removal.”

Mister Weekes left him alone to wander the house. Spencer drifted from room to room, his disbelief mounting. Downstairs there was a parlour, study, sun room, music room, library, and dining room. In the back were the staff quarters and the kitchen, which led down into a spacious basement, complete with laundry room, wine cellar, and a game room with billiard table. 

Upstairs were two more stories, room enough for the children to each have their own suites and a large play area. The master bedroom connected to it's own private bathroom, and to another bedroom on the other side. No doubt it was so husband and wife could have their own space, but it seemed very convenient for them. They would be able to easily move about without anyone ever seeing a thing. Spencer wondered if Brendon had known that when he'd purchased the home. 

By the time Spencer made his way back into the foyer, the tutors had arrived. Spencer really had no idea what to ask them. Mister Weekes smoothly guided the conversation, highlighting the specialities of each. Greta did a wonderful job with the children, but what Mister Schechter said, about the limitations of a one room schoolhouse was brought home speaking to these men and women, each highly knowledgeable in their individual fields.

As they were driving to campus to meet Professor Ford, Weekes made a detour to show him where James and Jacqueline would be living. It wasn't nearly as grand as the homes on First Hill, but there would still be plenty of room for them to live and grow there. Best of all, it would be no more than a 15 minute walk from Brendon's home, though going up and down the hill would take some getting used to. As if reading his thoughts, Weekes said, “Most of the families on First Hill have their own automobiles. You could arrange to have one delivered as well; it would make your trips to the University easier as well.”

Spencer was sure his look conveyed his thoughts. This was his first time riding in an automobile. While it wasn't the terrifying experience some made it out to be, Weekes was doing about a hundred different things a minute with each hand, shifting gears and flipping switches and it looked far too complicated to be worth it. Weeks glanced at his face and laughed, then said, “You get the hang of it rather quickly.”

“I'll take your word for it, Mister Weekes,” Spencer said. He was thinking instead of getting a bike. It had been years since he'd ridden one, but it sounded fun in his head, riding down that ridiculous hill with the wind in his hair.

“Dallon, if you don't mind,” the man said. “We're practically going to be neighbours.”

“If I accept the inheritance,” Spencer said. The more time that went by it felt less like a question of if, and more of a question of when. Then, belatedly, “And please, call me Spencer.”

They had arrived at the campus. Despite the fact that classes were on a break there were still quite a few students around, some working on the lawn, others gathered at long tables with books and bagged lunches. There was a gathering of three buildings, and Dallon pulled them up in front of the largest. 

“Well,” Dallon said, “Mister Schechter indicated that you'd be staying the evening. I can arrange for a room downtown, but if you are amenable to the suggestion, my wife and I would be glad to host you for the evening.”

Spencer spared him a bright smile as he climbed out of the car. Dallon seemed like the sort of person who could become a good friend to Spencer, and his wife would be a nice connection for Jacqueline in a strange new town. “That sounds lovely,” he said.

“Terrific,” Dallon said. “We've only recently moved; Breezy will be pleased to have our first guest. A cab will come for you later this afternoon. I'll let them know where to bring you. Professor Ford has his office in Room 35, he'll be expecting you.”

The rest of the afternoon flew by, after that. Meeting Professor Ford was like coming home. He was a middle-aged man with wild curly brown hair greying around the temples and glasses that hung low on his nose, and an enthusiasm for teaching that was dizzying. 

They talked for hours, first about the different courses as Professor Ford took him on a tour of the buildings and introduced him to some of the other professors. Then back in Ford's office, he led Spencer to talk about himself, his own studies, and what he hoped to achieve. 

Spencer was hesitant at first—it had been years since he'd had any formal education, and it was intimidating to be surrounded by all these serious academics. But Ford prodded and encouraged with an eager smile.

Ford was more forceful than any of the others with his refusal to accept Spencer's equivocations. He steam rolled right past any objections as if they were no concern of his and insisted that Spencer chose which classes in which to enrol for the coming semester. 

By the time Spencer left, after five in the afternoon, he had a printed class schedule in hand. Two science courses, in Biology and Chemistry, one in Mathematics, and to round things out, a course on early American Literature. Ford explained that in the future he could take more classes, or fewer, once he got a feel for the course load and what he could handle. Spencer was too excited at the prospect of learning again to worry about whether it was too much or too little.

Dallon's home was all lit up when the cab pulled up to the curve. Breezy and Dallon were on the front patio swing, dressed for dinner and little Amelie in her bassinet. No doubt they were taking advantage of the cool afternoon breeze. 

Though the train ride had been brief, that short distance made quite a difference in temperature. Back home it was at least five degrees warmer, thanks perhaps to the ocean. Spencer could imagine his own home a few streets away, windows open at dusk, curtains fluttering. In Atwana more often than not opening the windows just let in more stale, hot air.

They welcomed him warmly, Breezy showing him to a room in the back side of the house, cool from the shade, and told him dinner would be ready in an hour. Spencer was thankful for the time alone to think. He washed up and changed into a clean shirt, all the while thinking about the things Professor Ford had said, the lessons he would soon be learning. 

Spencer may have made up his mind at some other point, but it was now that he realised it. He almost wished that he'd gone back today so he could go and sign the papers immediately.

“Everyone in the neighbourhood has been gossiping about you,” Breezy told him, when they sat down to dinner.

“Oh?” Spencer asked. He felt a spark of concern.

“Most of the families on First Hill have lived here since the homes were built,” Dallon explained. “This house, for example, belonged to my Great Aunt Agatha, before she retired to the warmer southern climates and gifted it to us as a wedding present.”

“Your house is one of the few that's been sold,” Breezy said. “It's just been sitting there empty for, what did Lewie say, 5 years? Then some rich gentleman from the east coast bought it sight unseen. Or at least that's the rumour. It's all very mysterious.”

Spencer laughed nervously, “I don't know about all of that,” he said, “the trust was set up anonymously.”

“You don't have any idea?” Dallon asked.

“That makes it even better,” Breezy said decidedly. “A mystery even to you.”

Spencer told himself to relax. They were just making pleasant conversation. “It was probably a friend of the family. We moved several years ago and I'm afraid I don't remember any of my parent's friends well enough to guess who might have left it to me. I'm just grateful they did.”

And that was that. They didn't push the issue, or question him any further, and he was able to fully relax then, content that theirs was just idle curiosity. Dallon asked him about his appointment with Professor Ford, and from their the conversation turned to Spencer's plans for his study, and Dallon's own time at university. He'd studied business at home in Utah and met Breezy when she'd come into town with her travelling theatre troupe. 

Apparently their romance had been something of a scandal, but they were both amused by it. His aunt hadn't minded anyway, had thought it wildly romantic, and it was through her connections that Dallon had gotten the job at the bank.

After dinner they retired to the sitting room with sweet tea as the last of the sunlight faded from the sky. Dallon played the piano. Breezy rocked Amelie gently as she ate until she fell asleep at the breast. Spencer could imagine Jacqueline here, trading small talk with Breezy, Brendon singing along with Dallon—their voices would be nicely matched. 

Spencer didn't feel like he was in some grand home in the wealthiest part of the city. They were so easy-going and genuine in their interest, Spencer felt himself at ease around them. He had to remind himself that no matter how kind they seemed, there was quite a large difference between welcoming Spencer as he appeared, and what their reaction might be if they were ever to discover his relationship with Brendon. It was sobering to realise that for the rest of their lives, they'd been living two truths, and would have to be very careful to keep them separate. 

Dallon drove him to the station the next morning, and Spencer was jittery the entire ride. Dallon gave him an amused look when he disembarked from the car and said, “Can I assume you'll be back for the start of term?” It was clear he already knew the answer.

“There are a lot of details to see to,” Spencer said. “Moving the children will be no small feat...”

Dallon waited him out, chin tilted up, eyebrow arched expectantly. “Alright, yes,” Spencer laughed, and Dallon grinned sharply.

“We'll have to do dinner again soon,” Dallon said. “Breezy wouldn't stop talking about meeting all your sisters. She doesn't know what to do with herself, surrounded by all those high-society types.”

“I don't know that I will, either,” Spencer admitted.

“All the more reason for us to socialise with one another,” Dallon said. “Once you've signed the papers, have your lawyer wire me. We'll get you set up with that tailor you were asking after, and schedule interviews with nannies. I know it's all happening very soon, but we'll make it happen smoothly.”

It wasn't Dallon's job to do all of that. Certainly Mister Schechter could help set him up with someone to handle these details, but Spencer would rather it be Dallon, in the end. Spencer thanked him profusely and promised they would dine together again at the earliest opportunity. He spent the ride home wondering if he should invite the Weekes family to his home and then worrying over who would prepare the dinner, in that case. 

Heather and Selena helped Jacqueline around the kitchen, but neither of them were quite as good at it as she was. He was only just getting used to the idea of having housekeepers, and now he found himself wondering if they'd need a butler, or a cook, or both. Maybe Brendon would expect a full staff, if that's what he was used to. Saying there were a lot of details now seemed like an understatement.

Spencer's mind was racing with the possibilities, and he couldn't calm himself completely. He longed for someone to discuss it with. Jacqueline was already gone for her honeymoon and wouldn't be back until shortly before the school term started. Spencer wanted to tell her all about the Weekes family and his classes. 

It wasn't only his excitement, but that with her more than any of his other friends he could expect an honest, unbiased opinion. He loved Ryan, and Gabriel and William, but they had a rather different perspective from hers, and one that Spencer wasn't sure was altogether realistic. 

When he arrived back in Atwana, it was mid-morning and the bustle, what was considered busy for the town, seemed still and silent compared to the city. It was hard to believe that after only a day Spencer missed the sounds and energy. He went directly to Mister Schechter's office and signed the papers. It was both terrifying and liberating now that his name was there in dried ink. He stared blankly at the page for a long moment, then looked up at Mister Schechter, heart pounding, and said, “What do I do now?”

Mister Schechter smiled that fatherly smile and said, “Now you allow me to make arrangements for the move. If you found them acceptable, you can engage the tutors to start as soon as you arrive. You'll need some more seasonal hands, but I'm certain with Mr Saporta and Mr Walker's help that will be a simple matter. I would suggest giving yourself at least two weeks to settle in before classes resume. I see no reason we can't have things ready for you to make the move by the end of next week.”

Now that it was all in motion, there was no use in protesting that it was happening too quickly, even if it felt that way. So Spencer spent a few hours going over all the details with Mister Schechter and then was given a cheque book with which to settle his local debts. “You should also cash a cheque at the bank here, both to pay your hands in cash, and to see to any other needs before you leave town.”

“I have—I have no idea how much that would be,” Spencer said, and that was the terror taking over. He didn't know what to do with this new wealth, and the idea of carrying around a pocket full of bills was almost paralysing. 

“Fifteen-hundred should easily pay the hands and see you through until you arrive in Seattle.” Spencer's face must have given away his reservations because Mister Schechter chuckled and said, “Spencer, the kind of money you have now. It will never run out. That number amount you saw is only a portion of your wealth—with what you're generating from investments and your various land holdings, you'll never have another worry.”

“I wasn't worried about using it all,” Spencer said, though that thought had occurred to him a time or two. Once Brendon was back, he'd know how to handle it better, right? He didn't honestly expect Spencer to hold all the wealth. It was still Brendon's in reality, wasn't it? “I don't know if I can even use any of it.”

It was far too easy to write a cheque for the money as Mister Schechter had suggested. The teller didn't even look at him twice before counting it out for him and slipping it into a bill fold before passing it over. 

Visiting his creditors was a bit more surreal. Since his parents had passed away, he'd felt at their mercy, and though they'd been for the most part understanding, they all wanted their money. Mister Rivers, who handled loans for the bank, was more than a little stunned when Spencer handed him a cheque for the whole three thousand remaining on their land and home, along with the interest. 

From there Spencer went from business to business tying up all his father's loose ends. There were some out of town gentlemen to which he was beholden, from his father's gambling, but Mister Schechter explained that would be handled by the bank in Seattle. 

When Spencer was done, he felt significantly lighter. On the ride home he felt taller, as though he sat straighter, his shoulders no longer burdened with concerns for his siblings and his father's debt. He still felt a thrum of anxiety whenever he thought of Brendon. He wished he could be there for him, as his mother passed on and to reassure him of Spencer's love. The more he read the letter and Brendon's unsent postcards, and he read them often, the more he detected a sort of hopelessness inevitability to his words, as if he thought no amount of argument or explanation would sway Spencer's heart once he learned the truth.

By the time he reached the orchard the sun was starting to set. Rose was up with the older children when Spencer came into the home. She and Heather were doing needlepoint, and Rose was correcting Selena's pronunciation as she read to them out loud. Spencer watched them for the doorway a while, smiling at the sight. 

Jacqueline had done a wonderful job with them, but she had always been their sister in the end. Rose had that warm, maternal air about her, a gentle way of guiding without judgement. When she saw him, she said, “The boys are in the back.” It was a matter-of-fact dismissal, ensuring him that she was handling things here, and glad to do so.

Outside, Spencer could hear the distant voices and splash of water. Purple and orange streaked the sky and the sun was gone over the horizon, but it was still stifling hot and sultry. He took a lantern from the garden shed and started down the path towards the stream. They hadn't gone far, not to the pool where Spencer preferred to bathe. Instead they were sitting around half-dressed, passing around a couple bottles of Gabriel's more potent liquor, feet dangling in the water.

“Spencer,” Ryan called, arms spreading wide in welcome. “Come from the big city! Join us.”

Spencer rolled his eyes, but he kicked off his shoes, adding to the pile already under the tree and hung his lantern from a low branch. Theirs were already glowing softly from above, casting a glowing circle of light in the forest. He dropped down beside Ryan and William, sighing in relief when the cool water kissed his feet. He hadn't even realised how sore they were until just now. Jon leaned across the water to pass him the tequila. “How was it?” he asked.

The smile on his face was answer enough, apparently. Both William and Ryan bumped their shoulders against his, a not so subtle I told you so. “I...uh. I guess I'll be starting classes in a few weeks,” he said, the last coming out muffled when Ryan grabbed him in a hug and Gabriel ruffled his hair. “Alright, alright,” he grumbled, pushing them off.

“Getting out of harvest, I see,” Gabriel said.

“I know you'll be able to handle it for me. Make sure Ryan doesn't kill all the vines. Or himself.” Ryan gave him a dark look. “I'll need to hire the seasonal hands as quickly as possible.”

“Oh, sure, with what you're paying, you have the pick of the crowd,” Jon said. “Just let me know how many you want and they can be here next week.”

“Ginger must be turning over in her grave, at the thought of turning her house into worker's quarters,” Gabriel said.

“Ryan will keep it all fancy for her,” Spencer said, only half-mocking. He sobered after a moment. “I still don't know when Brendon will be coming back. What he'll have to tell me.”

“Spence,” Ryan said. “His name is Urie, his family is filthy rich, and they've done things he isn't proud of. I think you have to know we're right about who they are.”

“You told me I should accept the money,” Spencer protested.

“And I still think you should,” Ryan said. “I don't think that a child is responsible for their parent's actions. You and I are proof enough of that. But you can't fool yourself that it's going to be something other than what it is.”

“I get why he'd lie about it,” Jon said.

“He didn't lie,” Spencer said sharply. Immediately after he was ashamed. Jon was just saying what Spencer had initially thought, when Brendon had started to tell him the truth.

“Okay,” Jon drew the word out. “Why he wouldn't want to go around letting everyone know his name. If I had that name hanging over my head, I know I'd be getting as far away as fast as I could.”

Spencer wasn't entirely sure of the wisdom of discussing such things with Jon just yet, but if the others thought it was alright, he'd trust them. “He said he'd done things. You don't. You don't think he means...” He couldn't bring himself to finish the thought.

None of them said anything for a long moment. Spencer glanced up and Gabriel met his gaze. “You know him better than any of us. Do you think he could do that?”

“No,” Spencer said without hesitation. “But I don't know how they do things. What else he might have gotten himself into.”

William cleared his throat, tossed his hair out of his face. “They wouldn't dirty their hands with the sort of things you're imagining,” he said. “The ones in charge wouldn't risk doing anything that could incriminate them. They leave that to their underlings.”

“Something you wanna tell us, Bill?” Gabriel purred, and William shoved at him.

“It's impossible to live in any of the places I've been without learning a thing or two. Obviously there was never any interest on my part, but I've had friends who've been involved in some less than savoury outfits,” William said, aloof.

“Such an interesting life you've led,” Ryan teased.

“Well, I didn't get kicked out of my home, come over all bohemian, and take up with a farm hand,” William said, voice honeyed sweet, ignoring Gabriel's little sound of outrage and pinching fingers. “But I suppose I've had my share of adventure.”

Ryan scoffed, but didn't deny it. Spencer had already mostly reached that conclusion himself, about Ryan and Jon, but it was still a little bit of a shock how quickly they'd gone about it. He was relieved, anyway. Maybe this could be the happiness Ryan was searching for. He knew they were using the teasing and playfulness to distract him from his worries, and he let them.

They sat there drinking as the lightning bugs came and went, and the night started to cool. If there was one thing he would miss at Atwana, it would be moments like this, with these men who had become his dear friends. By the time they stumbled back the house the women and children were all asleep. Spencer watched them pair off and felt a pang of longing for Brendon so intense it hurt.

It was too still and empty in Spencer's room. Spencer kicked out of his clothing drunkenly and collapsed on the sheets. His bed felt too large without Brendon sprawling over it, limbs laying claim to Spencer in sleep. He touched himself, half-asleep, moaning into his pillowcase, and he found his release quickly, but it wasn't satisfying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> nearly there! I'm still working on this, but also on my Brencer Dr Who au, so it's slow going, but this is almost finished!


End file.
